As rather clever:

In the last quarter are my eyes,
You see it by their form and size;
Is it not time then to be wise?

Or now or never.
Fairest that ever sprang from Eve!
While Time allows the short reprieve,
Just look at me! would you believe

'Twas once a lover?
I cannot clear the five-bar gate
But, trying first its timber's state,
Climb stiffly up, take breath, and wait
To trundle over.

Thro' gallopade1 I cannot swing
The entangling blooms of Beauty's spring:
I cannot say the tender thing,

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15

Be't true or false, 20

And am beginning to opine
Those girls are only half-divine
Whose waists yon wicked boys entwine
In giddy waltz.

I fear that arm above that shoulder,
I wish them wiser, graver, older,
Sedater, and no harm if colder

And panting less.

1 A kind of dance,

25

Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art;

I warmed both hands before the fire of Life; It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

While the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy winds do blow.

10

But redder yet that light shall glow,
On Linden's hills of stainèd snow,
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun,
Shout in their sulphurous canopy.

The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave,

And charge with all thy chivalry!

Few, few, shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

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25

30

Where the stormy winds do blow;

When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.

30

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC1 (1809)

Of Nelson and the North

When to battle fierce came forth

All the might of Denmark's crown,

And her arms along the deep proudly shone; 5

By each gun the lighted brand

In a bold determin'd hand,

40

And the Prince of all the land

Led them on.

HOHENLINDEN1
(1802)

On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

1 When this ode was written England was arrayed singly against France and the greater part of Europe, and her safety depended on the maintenance of her supremacy on the sea.

2 Robert Blake (1599-1657), a great English admiral, particularly noted for his victories over the Dutch in 1652 and 1657.

3 Horatio Nelson (afterwards Viscount), the greatest of England's admirals (1758-1805), who was killed in the Battle of Trafalgar. In the original version of the poem Sir Richard Grenville's name was used instead of Nelson's, who was then living.

1 Campbell was near Hohenlinden, a village in upper

SONG

"" 'MEN OF ENGLAND"

Men of England! who inherit

Rights that cost your sires their blood, Men whose undegenerate spirit

Has been proved on land and flood:

By the foes ye've fought uncounted,
By the glorious deeds ye've done,
Trophies captured-breaches mounted,
Navies conquered-kingdoms won!
Yet, remember, England gathers

Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame,
If the patriotism of your fathers
Glow not in your hearts the same.
What are monuments of bravery,

Where no public virtues bloom? What avail in lands of slavery,

Trophied temples, arch and tomb? Pageants!-Let the world revere us

For our people's rights and laws,
And the breasts of civic heroes
Bared in Freedom's holy cause.

Yours are Hampden's, Russell's glory,
Sydney's matchless fame is yours,-
Martyrs in heroic story,

Worth a hundred Agincourts!

We're the sons of sires that baffled Crowned and mitred tyranny: They defied the field and scaffold For their birthrights-so will we!

SONG

TO THE EVENING STAR

Star that bringest home the bee,

And sett'st the weary labourer free! If any star shed peace, 'tis thou,

That send'st it from above,

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Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow, 5 Are sweet as hers we love.

For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,

While the wine cup shines in light;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,
By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore!2

Parted lovers on thee muse;

Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave!

Singing glory to the souls

Of the brave!

70

A Danish sea-port town about twenty miles from Copenhagen.

Captain Riou, who distinguished himself in an important part of the engagement.

By absence from the heart.

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER (1804)

A Chieftan to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound,
To row us o'er the ferry."-

Thomas Moore

1779-1852

AS SLOW OUR SHIP

(From Irish Melodies, 1807-1834) As slow our ship her foamy track Against the wind was cleaving, Her trembling pennant still look'd back To that dear isle 'twas leaving. So loath we part from all we love, From all the links that bind us; So turn our hearts, where'er we rove, To those we've left behind us!

When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years
We talk, with joyous seeming,

And smiles that might as well be tears,
So faint, so sad their beaming;
While mem'ry brings us back again
Each early tie that twin'd us,
Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then
To those we've left behind us!

And, when in other climes we meet

Some isle or vale enchanting,

Where all looks flow'ry, mild and sweet,
And nought but love is wanting;
We think how great had been our bliss,
If Heav'n had but assign'd us
To live and die in scenes like this,
With some we've left behind us!
As trav'llers oft look back at eve,
When eastward darkly going,
To gaze upon the light they leave
Still faint behind them glowing-
So, when the close of pleasure's day
To gloom hath near consign'd us,
We turn to catch one fading ray
Of joy that's left behind us.

THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH

TARA'S HALLS1

(From the same)

The harp that once, through Tara's Halls The soul of music shed,

Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls,

As if that soul were fled:

His wrath was changed to wailing.

For sore dismayed, through storm and shade, 45 His child he did discover:

So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er;

5

And hearts, that once beat high for praise,

One lovely hand she stretched for aid, And one was round her lover.

Now feel that pulse no more!

No more to chiefs and ladies bright

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water:

The harp of Tara swells;

10

The chord, alone, that breaks at night,

50

And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!-oh, my daughter!"

Its tale of ruin tells:

Thus freedom now so seldom wakes,

The only throb she gives

Twas vain: the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing:

Is when some heart indignant breaks,

15

To show that still she lives!

The waters wild went o'er his child,

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And he was left lamenting.

1 The palace of the ancient kings of Ireland, which is said to have stood on the Hill of Tara, in County Meath, Ireland. 2 Cord, string.

SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND

(From the same)

She is far from the land where her young Hero sleeps,

6

And lovers are round her, sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying! She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, Every note which he lov'd awaking;Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains, How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking! He had liv'd for his love, for his country he died, They were all that to life had entwin'd him,10 Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him!

Oh! make her a grave where the sun-beams rest, When they promise a glorious morrow; They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West,

From her own loved island of sorrow!

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The friends, so link'd together,

I've seen around me fall,

Like leaves in wintry weather;

I feel like one

Who treads alone

Some banquet-hall deserted,

Whose lights are fled,

Whose garland's dead,

And all but he departed!

Thus, in the stilly night,

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me,

Sad Mem'ry brings the light

Of other days around me.

Ebenezer Elliott

1781-1849

A POET'S EPITAPH

Stop, Mortal! Here thy brother lies,
The Poet of the Poor.

His books were rivers, woods, and skies,
The meadow, and the moor;

TO THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET (1816)

Green little vaulter in the sunny grass, Catching your heart up at the feel of June, Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon, When even the bees lag at the summoning brass: 2

And you, warm little housekeeper, who class 5 With those who think the candles come too soon,

Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune
Nick the glad silent moments as they pass;
Oh sweet and tiny cousins, that belong,
One to the fields, the other to the hearth,
Both have your sunshine; both, though small,

are strong

10

At your clear hearts; and both seem giv'n to

earth