So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore
"Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar.” 1
And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide
Of life long since has anchored by thy side.
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,
Always from port withheld, always distressed-
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tost,
Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass
lost;

And day by day some current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.
Yet O the thought that thou art safe, and he !
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.
My boast is not, that I deduce my birth
From loins enthroned and rulers of the earth,2
But higher far my proud pretensions rise-
The son of parents passed into the skies!

And now, farewell! Time unrevoked has run
His wonted course, yet what I wished is done.
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again;
To have renewed the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine :

And, while the wings of Fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft-
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.
W. COWPER

1 Quoted, perhaps from memory, from Garth's Dispensary, where we find

"To die is landing on some silent shore

Where billows never break, nor tempests roar."

2 His mother was descended by four different lines from King Henry III.

II. -O THAT WE TWO WERE MAYING

O THAT we two were Maying

Down the stream of the soft spring breeze;

Like children with violets playing

In the shade of the whispering trees!

O that we two sat dreaming

On the sward of some sheep-trimmed down,
Watching the white mist streaming

Over river and mead and town!

O that we two lay sleeping

In our nest in the churchyard sod,

With our limbs at rest on the quiet earth's breast, And our souls at home with God!

C. KINGSLEY

12. THE SCHOLAR

My days among the Dead are passed;
Around me I behold,

Where'er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty minds of old:

My never-failing friends are they
With whom I converse day by day.

With them I take delight in weal,
And seek relief in woe;

And while I understand and feel
How much to them I owe,

My cheeks have often been bedewed
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.

My thoughts are with the Dead; with them
I live in long-past years,

Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
Partake their hopes and fears,

And from their lessons seek and find
Instruction with an humble mind.

My hopes are with the Dead; anon
My place with them will be,
And I with them shall travel on
Through all futurity;

Yet leaving here a name, I trust,
That will not perish in the dust.

R. SOUTHEY

13. THE SHIP O' THE FIEND

"O WHERE hae ye been, my lang-lost lover, This lang seven years and mair?” "O I'm come again to seek your love And the vows that ye did swear."

"Now haud your tongue o' my love and vows, For they can breed but strife ;

Now haud your tongue o' my former vows,
For I am anither man's wife."

He turned him right and round about,
And the tear blinded his e'e:

"I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground,
If it had not been for thee.

"I might hae had a noble lady,

Far beyond the sea;

I might hae had a noble lady,
Were it no for the love o' thee."

"If ye might hae had a noble lady,
Yoursel' ye hae to blame;

Ye might hae taken the noble lady,
For ye kenned that I was nane."

“O fause are the vows o' womankind, But fair is their fause bodie ;

I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground, Were it no for the love o' thee!

"For I despised the pearls and rings, And the fair lady also ;

And I am come back to my ain true love, But with me she'll not go."

"My husband he is a carpenter,

And earns gude bread wi' his hand; And I hae borne him a little son;

Wi' you I winna gang."

"Ye may leave your husband to himsel',

And your little son also;

And sail wi' me across the sea:
Sae fair the wind doth blow."

“O what hae you to keep me wi',
If I wi' you should go―

If I should forsake my good husband,
My little young son also?"

"See ye not yon seven pretty ships—
The eighth brought me to land—
With merchandise and mariners,
And music on every hand?

"There's mantles warm to wrap my love,
O' the silk and soft velvét,
And rich attires to deck her head,
And costly shoon for her feet."

She turned her round upon the shore,
Her love's ships to behold,

Their mainyards and their topmasts high
Were covered o'er wi' gold.

And she has gone to her little young son,
Kissed him baith cheek and chin:

"O fare ye weel, my little son!
For I'll never see you again."

She has drawn the slippers on her feet,
Well wrought wi' threads o' gold,
And he's wrapt her round wi' the soft velvét
To haud her frae the cold.

"O how do you like the ship?” he said
"Or how do you like the sea?

And how do you like the bold mariners
That wait upon thee and me?"

“O weel I like the ship," she said,
"And weel I like the sea;

But where are a' your mariners?
I see nane but thee and me."