O THAT a mighty man, of such descent,
Of such possessions, and so high esteem,
Should be infused with so foul a spirit.
Shakspere.
I can call up spirits from the vasty deep.-
-Why, so can I, or so can any man;
But will they come, when you do call for them?
Shakspere.
For spirits, freed from mortal laws, with ease
Assume what sexes and what shapes they please.
Take thou the poet's counsel to thy heart:
Question thy spirit, make its wisdom thineShut out the world, pride, pomp, and every part; As these retire, we gaze on worlds divine.
Then spiritual loveliness appears—
God's nature glows through every form we see;
For mind's the prophecy of other spheres,
And in itself its own futurity.
Turn to thy soul, Eternity is there;
The key of the Invisible behold:
Spirit thou art-of spirit-worlds the heir-
All other secrets can thy cross unfold.
THE spleen with sudden vapour clouds the brain,
And binds the spirits in its heavy chain;
Howe'er the cause fantastic may appear,
Th' effect is real and the pain sincere.-Blackmore.
The spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns;
The low'ring eye, the petulance, the frown,
And sullen sadness, that o'ershade, distort,
And mar the face of beauty, when no cause
For such immeasurable woe appears,
These Flora banishes, and gives the fair
Sweet smiles, and bloom less transient than her own.
SPLENDOUR.
THE glorious sun
Stays in his course, and plays the alchymist,
Turning, with splendour of his precious eye,
The meagre, cloddy earth, to glittering gold.
The splendour of our rank and state
Are shadows, not substantial things.
To splendour only do we live?
Must pomp alone our thoughts employ?
All, all that pomp and splendour give,
Is dearly bought with love and joy.
IN wrestling nimble, and in running swift;
In shooting steady, and in swimming strong;
Well made to strike, to leap, to throw, to lift,
And all the sports that shepherds are among.
Spenser.
For sports, for pageantry, and plays,
Thou hast thy eves and holidays;
On which the young men and maids meet,
To exercise their dancing feet;
Tripping the comely country round,
With daffodils and daisies crown'd,
Thy wakes, thy quintels, here thou hast,
Thy May-poles too, with garlands grac'd;
Thy morris-dance, thy Whitsun ale,
Thy shearing feast, which never fail;
Thy harvest-home, thy wassail bowl,
That's tost up after fox i' th' hole;
Thy mummeries, thy twelfth-night kings
And queens, thy Christmas revellings;
Thy nut-brown mirth, thy russet wit;
And no man pays too dear for it.
By sports like these are all their cares beguil'd;
The sports of children satisfy the child.-Goldsmith.
So forth issu'd the seasons of the year;
First lusty spring, all dight in leaves of flowers
That freshly budded, and new blossoms did bear,
In which a thousand birds had built their bowers,
That sweetly sung to call forth paramours;
And in his hand a javelin he did bear,
And on his head (as fit for warlike stores)
A gilt engraven morion he did wear,
That as some did him love, so others did him fear.
Spenser. Fain would my muse the flowing treasure sing, The humble glories of the youthful Spring.
Where smiling Spring its earliest visit paid,
And parting Summer lingering blooms delayed.
Come, gentle spring, ethereal mildness, come,
And from the bosom of yon drooping cloud,
While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower
Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend.-Thomson.
O Spring! of hope, and love, and youth, and gladness,
Wind-winged emblem! brightest, best, and fairest!
Whence comest thou, when, with dark winter's sadness,
The tears that fade in sunny smiles thou sharest?
Sister of joy, thou art the child that wearest
Thy mother's dying smile tender and sweet;
Thy mother Autumn, for whose grave thou bearest
Fresh flowers, and beams like flowers, with gentle feet,
Disturbing not the leaves, which are her winding-sheet.
Shelley.
I come, I come! ye have called me long,
I come o'er the mountains with light and song!
Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth
By the winds that tell of the violet's birth,
By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves opening as I pass.
Their light stems thrill to the wild-wood strains,
And youth is abroad in my green domains.
STERN command we had,
To see that none thence issued forth a spy
Or enemy while God was in his work.
Nothing lies hid from radiant eyes;
All they subdue become their spies.
Born in a garret, in a kitchen bred,
Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head;
Next for some gracious service unexpressed,
And from its wages only to be guessed-
Raised from the toilet to the table, where
Her wondering betters wait behind her chair.
With eye unmoved, and forehead unabashed,
She dines from off the plate she lately washed;
Quick with the tale, and ready with the lie-
The genial confidante, and general spy.
LET a spendthrift grow to be old, he will set his heart on saving,
And labour to build up by penury that which extravagance threw down:
Even so with most men, do riches earn themselves a double curse;
They are ill-got by tight dealing: they are ill-spent by loose squandering.
Squander not the wealth which God
Hath entrusted to thy care;
Yet no niggard be, but give
To the needy one a share.
Ever from the line of right
Will thy feet be wandering,
If thou let'st a generous heart
Prompt to wasteful squandering.
THE Stage-a subject fair and free,
'Tis yours-'tis mine-'t is public property.
All common exhibitions open lie
For praise or censure to the common eye.
Hence are a thousand hackney writers fed;
Hence monthly critics earn their daily bread.
This is a general tax which all must pay,
From those who scribble down to those who play.
Churchill.
Lo where the Stage, the poor, degraded Stage,
Holds its warped mirror to a gaping age;
There, where to raise the Drama's moral tone,
Fool Harlequin usurps Apollo's throne;
Where mincing dancers sport tight pantelits,
And turn fops' heads by turning pirouettes.
That I should love a bright particular star,
Oft till the star that rose at evening bright
Towards heaven's descent had sloped his westering
Ye stars which are the poetry of heaven,
A beauty and a mystery, and create
In us such love and reverence from afar,
fortune-fame-power-life-have named_them-
selves a star.
And for the stars that gleamed above,
They each seemed smiles of heavenly love,
Teaching the wanderer o'er the wild
That every lost one was God's child.
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