What words the parent's joy could tell 14. Concealed beneath a tumbled heap 15. Nor scathe had he, nor harm, nor dread, Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead, 16. Ah, what was then Llewelyn's pain! His gallant hound the wolf had slain [WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, the greatest poet of these modern days, was born 7th April, 1770, and died 23rd April, 1850, full of years and honours. No poet was more decried than Wordsworth. And it may be safely said that no poet is now more appreciated.] 1. OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray; 2. No mate, no comrade, Lucy knew; -The sweetest thing that ever grew 3. You yet may spy the fawn at play, But the sweet face of Lucy Gray 4. "To-night will be a stormy night- 5. "That, father, will I gladly do! The minster-clock has just struck two, 6. At this the father raised his hook 7. Not blither is the mountain roe: 8. The storm came on before its time: 9. The wretched parents all that night 10. At daybreak on a hill they stood And thence they saw the bridge of wood, 11. And, turning homeward, now they cried, "In heaven we all shall meet!' -When in the snow the mother spied 12. Then downward from the steep hill's edge And through the broken hawthorn hedge, 13. And then an open field they crossed: 14. They followed from the snowy bank 15. Into the middle of the plank ; And further there were none! -Yet some maintain that to this day That you may see sweet Lucy Gray 16. O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind. WORDSWORTH. THE SKYLARK. [JAMES HOGG, better known as the Ettrick Shepherd, was born in 1772. He was a very prolific writer both in prose and His best-known poetical work is "The Queen's Wake." He died 21st November, 1835.] verse. 1. BIRD of the wilderness, Blythesome and cumberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Blest is thy dwelling-place Oh to abide in the desert with thee! Wild is thy lay and loud Far in the downy cloud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. Where, on thy dewy wing, Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. 2. O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the rainbow's rim, Then, when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms, Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Blest is thy dwelling-place Oh to abide in the desert with thee! HOGG. THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS. [LEIGH HUNT, born 19th October, 1784, is the author of various poems, none of which have taken a deep hold on the public mind. His shorter pieces are better known than his longer works. He died 28th August, 1859.] 1. KING FRANCIS was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport, And one day, as his lions strove, sat looking on the court: The nobles filled the benches round, the ladies by their side, And 'mongst them Count de Lorge, with one he hoped to make his bride; And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show, Valour and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below. 2. Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws; They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws; With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled one on another, Till all the pit, with sand and mane, was in a thund'rous smother; The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing through the air; Said Francis then, "Good gentlemen, we're better here than there!" 3. De Lorge's love o'erheard the king, & beauteous, lively dame, With smiling lips, and sharp bright eyes, which always seemed the same : She thought, "The Count, my lover, is as brave as brave can be ; He surely would do desperate things to show his love of me! King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the chance is wondrous fine; I'll drop my glove to prove his love; great glory shall be mine!" 4. She dropt her glove to prove his love: then looked on him and smiled; He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild : The leap was quick; return was quick; he soon regained his place; Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face! "In truth!" cried Francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat : "No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that!" HUNT. |