A Library of Poetry and Song: Being Choice Selections from the Best Poets

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Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other , On this home by horror haunted, tell me truly, friends have flown before,

I implore, On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? — tell me, have flown before."

-- tell me, I implore !" Then the bird said, “Nevermore !"

Quoth the raven, · Nevermore !" Startled at the stillness, broken by reply so aptly Prophet !” said I, “thing of evil ! - prophet spoken,

still, if bird or devil ! “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only By that heaven that bends above us, stock and store,

God we both adore, Caught from some unhappy master, whom un- Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the merciful disaster

distant Aidenn, Followed fast and followed faster, till his song It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the anone burden bore,

gels name Lenore, Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy bur- Clasp a fair and radiant maiden, whom the anden bore,

gels name Lenore !” Of 'Nevermore, nevermore!'

Quoth the raven, “Nevermore !" But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or smiling,

fiend !" I shrieked, upstarting, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of “Get thee back into the tempest and the night's bird and bust and door,

Plutonian shore ! Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy to linking

soul hath spoken ! Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the bust bird of yore

above my door! What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and Take thy beak from o’t my heart, and take thy ominous bird of yore —

form from off my door !.” Meant in croaking “Nevermore !"

Quoth the raven, “Nevermore !" This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable and the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, expressing

still is sitting To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into on the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my

my
bosom's core ;

chamber door ; This and more I sat divining, with my head at And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon ease reclining

that is dreaming, On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp. And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws light gloated o'er,

his shadow on the floor ; But whose velvet violet lining, with the lamp. And my soul from out that shadow that lies light gloating o'er,

floatir on the floor
She shall press
ah! nevermore !

Shall be lifted nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed

from an unseen censer, Swung by seraphim, whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.

SONG OF THE SEA BY THE ROYAL "Wretch," I cried, “thy God hath lent thee,

GARDEN AT NAPLES. by these angels he hath sent thee Respite, — respite and nepenthe from the mem I HAVE swung for ages to and fro; ories of Lenore !

I have striven in vain to reach thy feet, Quaff, 0, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget O Garden of joy! whose walls are low, this lost Lenore !”.

And odors are so sweet.
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore !"

I palpitate with fitful love; "Prophet!" said I, “thing of evil ! - prophet

I sigh and sing with changing breath ; still, if bird or devil!

I raise my hands to heaven above, Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest I smite my shores beneath !

tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land In vain, in vain ! while far and fine, enchanted,

To curb the madness of my sweep,

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

The earthquake heralds my coming power,

The avalanche bounds away,
And howling storms at midnight's hour

Proclaim my kingly sway.
Ye tremble when my legions come,

When my quivering sword leaps out O'er the hills that echo my thunder drum,

And rend with my joyous shout.
Ye quail on the land, or upon the seas

Ye stand in your fear aghast,
To see me burn the stalworth trees,

Or shiver the stately mast.
The hieroglyphs on the Persian wall,

The letters of high command,
Where the prophet read the tyrant's fall,

Were traced by my burning hand. And oft in fire have I wrote since then

What angry Heaven decreed ;
But the sealed eyes of sinful men

Were all too blind to read.
At length the hour of light is here,

And kings no more shall bind,
Nor bigots crush with craven fear,

The forward march of mind.
The words of Truth and Freedom's rays

Are from my pinions hurled ;
And soon the light of better days

Shall rise upon the world.

GEORGE W. CUTTER.

ORIGIN OF THE OPAL,

Runs the white limit of a line

I may not overleap.

Once thou wert sleeping on my breast,

Till fiery Titans lifted thee
From the fair silence of thy rest,

Out of the loving sea.
And I swing eternal to and fro;

I strive in vain to reach thy feet,
O Garden of joy! whose walls are low,

And odors are so sweet!

ROSSITER W. RAYMOND.

SONG OF THE LIGHTNING.

** PUCK. I 'll put a girdle round about the earth In forty minutes."

MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.

AWAY ! away! through the sightless air

Stretch forth your iron thread ! For I would not dim my sandals fair

With the dust ye tamely tread ! Ay, rear it up on its million piers,

Let it circle the world around, And the journey ye make in a hundred years

I'll clear at a single bound !
Though I cannot toil, like the groaning slave

Ye have fettered with iron skill
To ferry you over the boundless wave,

Or grind in the noisy mill,
Let him sing his giant strength and speed !

Why, a single shaft of mine
Would give that monster a flight indeed, -

To the depths of the ocean's brine !

No! no! I'm the spirit of light and love !

To my unseen hand 't is given
To pencil the ambient clouds above

And polish the stars of heaven !
I scatter the golden rays of fire

On the horizon far below,
And deck the sky where storms expire

With my red and dazzling glow.
With a glance I cleave the sky in twain ;

I light it with a glare,
When fall the boding drops of rain

Through the darkly curtained air !
The rock-built towers, the turrets gray,

The piles of a thousand years,
Have not the strength of potter's clay

Beneath my glittering spears.
From the Alps' or the Andes' highest crag,

From the peaks of eternal snow, The blazing folds of my fiery flag

lllume the world below.

A DEW-DROP came, with a spark of flame

He had caught from the sun's last ray, To a violet's breast, where he lay at rest

Till the hours brought back the day. The rose looked down, with a blush and frown;'

But she smiled all at once, to view
Her own bright form, with its coloring warm,

Reflected back by the dew.
Then the stranger took a stolen look

At the sky, so soft and blue ;
And a leaflet green, with its silver sheen,

Was seen by the idler too.
A cold north-wind, as he thus reclined,

Of a sudden raged around ;
And a maiden fair, who was walking there,

Next morning, an opal found.

ANONYMOUS.

THE ORIGIN OF GOLD.

The Fallen looked on the world and sneered. “ I can guess," he muttered, “why God is feared,

FROM

For the eyes of mortal are fain to shun

FAIRY LORE FROM SHAKESPEARE. The midnight heaven that hath no sun.

THE FAIRIES' LULLABY.
I will stand on the height of the hills and wait
Where the day goes out at the western gate,

MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM."
And, reaching up to its crown, will tear
From its plumes of glory the brightest there :

Enter TITANIA, with her train.
With the stolen ray I will light the sod,

TITANIA. Come, now a roundel, and a fairy song; And turn the eyes of the world from God.”

Then, for the third part of a minute, hence ; He stood on the height when the sun went down, Some, war with rear-mice for their leathern wings

Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds ; He tore one plume from the day's bright crown, To make my small elves coats ; and some, keep The proud beam stooped till he touched its brow,

SONG,

back And the print of his fingers are on it now;

The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, and And the blush of its anger forevermore

wonders Burns red when it passes the western door. The broken feather above him whirled,

At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep;

Then to your offices, and let me rest.
In flames of torture around him curled,
And he dashed it down on the snowy height,
In broken flashes of quivering light.
Ah, more than terrible was the shock

1 FAIRY. You spotted snakes, with double tongue, Where the burning splinters struck wave and rock!

Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen ; The green earth shuddered, and shrank and paled,

Neuts, andblind-worms, do no wrong; The wave sprang up, and the mountain quailed ;

Come not near our fairy queen. Look on the hills, let the scars they bear Measure the pain of that hour's despair.

CHORUS. Philomel, with melody,

Sing in our sweet lullaby ; The Fallen watched while the whirlwind fanned Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby : The pulsing splinters that ploughed the sand ;

Never harm, Sullen he watched while the hissing waves

Nor spell nor charm, Bore them away to the ocean caves ;

Come our lovely lady nigh;
Sullen he watched while the shining rills

So, good night, with lullaby.
Throbbed through the hearts of the rocky hills ;
Loudly he laughed, “Is the world not mine ?

2 Fairy. Weaving spiders, come not here ; Proudly the links of its chain shall shine ;

Hence, you long-legged spinners, Lighted with gems shall its dungeon be,

hence! But the pride of its beauty shall kneel to me."

Beetles black, approach not near ; That splintered light in the earth grew cold,

Worm, nor snail, do no offence. And the diction of mortals hath called it gold.

CHORUS. Philomel, with melody, etc.

SARAH E. CARMICHAEL, of Utah.

MAIDEN MEDITATION, FANCY FREE.

FAIRIES' SONG.

FROM

MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM."

We the fairies blithe and antic,
Of dimensions not gigantic,
Thongh the moonshine mostly keep us,
Oft in orchards frisk and peep us.

Stolen sweets are always sweeter ;
Stolen kisses much completer ;
Stolen looks are nice in chapels ;
Stolen, stolen be your apples.
When to bed the world are bobbing,
Then 's the time for orchard-robbing ;
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling
Were it not for stealing, stealing.

OBERON. My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou

remember'st
Since once I sat upon a promontory,
And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back,
Uttering such a dulcet and harmonious breath,
That the rude sea grew civil at her song,
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
To hear the sea-maid's music.
Puck.

I remember.
OBE. That very time I saw (but thou couldst

not),
Flying between the cold moon and the earth,
Cupid all armed : a certain aim he took
At a fair vestal thronéd by the west,

THOMAS RANDOLPH (Latin). Trans

lation of LEIGH HUNT.

And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, | This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : That presses them, and learns them first to bear,
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft . Making them women of good carriage.
Quenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon,
And the imperial vot'ress passed on,

WHERE THE BEE SUCKS.
In maiden meditation, fancy free.
Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell :

FROM "THE TEMPEST.”
It fell upon a little western flower
Before milk-white, now purple with love's

WHERE the bee sucks, there suck 1:
wound,

In a cowslip's bell I lie ;
And maidens call it, love-in-idleness.

There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat's back I do fly

After summer, merrily.
QUEEN MAB.

Merrily, merrily shall I live now,

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. FROM “ROMEO AND JULIET."

COME UNTO THESE YELLOW SANDS.

FROM "THE TEMPEST."

COME unto these yellow sands,

And then take hands;
Court'sied when you have, and kissed

The wild waves whist,
Foot it featly here and there ;
And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.

Hark, hark !

Bough, wough.
The watch-dogs bark :

Bough, wough.
Hark, hark ! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer
Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo.

O THEN I see, Queen Mab hath been with you. I
She is the fairies' midwife ; and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep: 1
Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs ;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film ;
Her wagoner, a small gray-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid :
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of

love ;
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies

straight ;
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees ;
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream, -
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted

are :
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice :
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscades, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts, and wakes ;
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab,
That plats the manes of horses in the night;
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes : /

OVER HILL, OVER DALE.
FROM “MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
Over hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere ;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green :
The cowslips tall her pensioners ben
In their gold coats spots you see ;
Those be rubies, fairy favors,

In those freckles live their savors :
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

FULL FATHOM FIVE.

FROM "THE TEMPE6T."

Full fathom five thy father lies;

Of his bones are coral made;

Those are pearls that were his eyes :

Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Hark! now I hear them,-ding-dong, bell.

FAIRY SONG.

SHED no tear! O, shed no tear !
The flower will bloom another year.
Weep no more! 0, weep no more !
Young buds sleep in the root's white core.
Dry your eyes ! O, dry your eyes !
For I was taught in Paradise
To ease my breast of melodies,

Shed no tear.

Overhead ! look overhead !
'Mong the blossoms white and red, -
Look up, look up! I flutter now
On this fresh pomegranate bough.
See me ! 't is this silvery bill
Ever cures the good man's ill,
Shed no tear ! O, shed no tear !
The flower will bloom another year.
Adieu, adieu — I fly - adieu !
I vanish in the heaven's blue, -

Adieu, adieu !

JOHN KEATS.

THE SPICE-TREE.

The spice-tree lives in the garden green ;

Beside it the fountain flows;
And a fair bird sits the boughs between,

And sings his melodious woes.
No
o greener garden e'er was known

Within the bounds of an earthly king; No lovelier skies have ever shone

Than those that illumine its constant spring. That coil-bound stem has branches three ;

On each a thousand blossoms grow; And, old as aught of time can be,

The root stands fast in the rocks below.

In the spicy shade ne'er seems to tire

The fount that builds a silvery dome; And flakes of purple and ruby fire

Gush out, and sparkle amid the foam. The fair white bird of flaming crest,

And azure wings bedropt with gold, Ne'er has he known a pause of rest,

But sings the lament that he framed of old :

O princess bright ! how long the night

Since thou art sunk in the waters clear! How sadly they flow from the depth below, –

How long must I sing and thou wilt not hear?

“The waters play, and the flowers are gay,

And the skies are sunny above ;
I would that all could fade and fall,

And I, too, cease to mourn my love.

“0, many a year, so wakeful and drear,

I have sorrowed and watched, beloved, for thee ! But there comes no breath from the chambers of

death, While the lifeless fount gushes under the tree.”

The skies grow dark, and they glare with red ;

The tree shakes off its spicy bloom ; The waves of the fount in a black pool spread ;

And in thunder sounds the garden's doom.

Down springs the bird with a long shrill cry,

Into the sable and angry flood; And the face of the pool, as he falls from high,

Curdles in circling stains of blood.

But sudden again upswells the fount;

Higher and higher the waters flow, — In a glittering diamond arch they mount,

And round it the colors of morning glow.

Finer and finer the watery mound

Softens and melts to a thin-spun veil, And tones of music circle around,

And bear to the stars the fountain's tale.

And swift the eddying rainbow screen

Falls in dew on the grassy floor ; Under the spice-tree the garden's queen Sits by her lover, who wails no more.

JOHN STERLING

THE VALLEY BROOK.

Fresh from the fountains of the wood

A rivulet of the valley came,
And glided on for many a rood,

Flushed with the morning's ruddy flame.

The air was fresh and soft and sweet ;

The slopes in spring's new verdure lay,
And wet with dew-drops at my feet

Bloomed the young violets of May.

No sound of busy life was heard

Amid those pastures lone and still,

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