PALGRAVE'S NOTES. 275. ODE TO THE WEST WIND. O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The wingéd seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With living hues and odours plain and hill: Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; Destroyer and preserver; Hear, O hear! Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion, Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean, Angels of rain and lightning; there are spread On the blue surface of thine airy surge, Like the bright hair uplifted from the head Of some fierce Maenad, ev'n from the dim verge Of the horizon to the zenith's height— The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge Of the dying year, to which this closing night Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, Vaulted with all thy congregated might Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: O hear! Thou who didst waken from his summer-dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams, Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss and flowers So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou For whose path the Atlantic's level powers Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear The sapless foliage of the ocean, know Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear! If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share The impulse of thy strength, only less free Than Thou, O uncontrollable! If even I were as in my boyhood, and could be The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven, As then, when to outstrip the skyey speed Scarce seem'd a vision, I would ne'er have striven As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. O lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed! A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud. Make me thy lyre, ev'n as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth! And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth The trumpet of a prophecy! O, Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? P.B. SHELLEY. 276. NATURE AND THE POET. Suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle in a Storm, painted by Sir George Beaumont. I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile! Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee: I saw thee every day; and all the while Thy form was sleeping on a glassy sea. So pure the sky, so quiet was the air! So like, so very like, was day to day! Whene'er I look'd, thy image still was there; It trembled, but it never pass'd away. How perfect was the calm! It seem'd no sleep, No mood, which season takes away, or brings: I could have fancied that the mighty Deep Was even the gentlest of all gentle things. Ah! then if mine had been the painter's hand To express what then I saw; and add the gleam, The light that never was on sea or land, The consecration, and the Poet's dream,— I would have planted thee, thou hoary pile, Amid a world how different from this! Beside a sea that could not cease to smile; On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. A picture had it been of lasting ease, Elysian quiet, without toil or strife; No motion but the moving tide, a breeze, Or merely silent Nature's breathing life. Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, Such picture would I at that time have made; And seen the soul of truth in every part, A steadfast peace that might not be betray'd. So once it would have been,—'tis so no more I have submitted to a new control: A power is gone, which nothing can restore; A deep distress hath humanised my soul. Not for a moment could I now behold A smiling sea, and be what I have been: The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old; This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the friend If he had lived, of him whom I deplore, This work of thine I blame not, but commend; This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. O 'tis a passionate work!—yet wise and well, Well chosen is the spirit that is here; That hulk which labours in the deadly swell, This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear! And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, I love to see the look with which it braves, —Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time— The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone, Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind! Such happiness, wherever it be known, Is to be pitied; for 'tis surely blind. But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, And frequent sights of what is to be borne! Such sights, or worse, as are before me here: Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. W. WORDSWORTH. 277. THE POET'S DREAM. On a Poet's lips I slept Dreaming like a love-adept In the sound his breathing kept; Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses, But feeds on the aerial kisses Of shapes that haunt Thought's wildernesses. He will watch from dawn to gloom The lake-reflected sun illume The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom, Nor heed nor see, what things they be— But from these create he can Forms more real than living Man, Nurslings of immortality! P.B. SHELLEY. 278. The World is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon, The winds that will be howling at all hours And are up-gather'd now like sleeping flowers, For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not.—Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn,— So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. W. WORDSWORTH. 279. WITHIN KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE. Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense, With ill-match'd aims the Architect who plann'd (Albeit labouring for a scanty band Of white-robed Scholars only) this immense And glorious work of fine intelligence! —Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore Of nicely-calculated less or more:— So deem'd the man who fashion'd for the sense These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof Self-poised, and scoop'd into ten thousand cells Where light and shade repose, where music dwells Lingering and wandering on as loth to die— Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality. W. WORDSWORTH. 280. YOUTH AND AGE. Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying, Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee— Both were mine! Life went a-maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young! When I was young?—Ah, woeful when! Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then! This breathing house not built with hands, This body that does me grievous wrong, O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands How lightly then it flash'd along: Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, On winding lakes and rivers wide, That ask no aid of sail or oar, That fear no spite of wind or tide! Nought cared this body for wind or weather When Youth and I lived in't together. Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like; Friendship is a sheltering tree; O! the joys, that came down shower-like, Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, Ere I was old! Ere I was old? Ah woeful Ere, Which tells me, Youth's no longer here! O Youth! for years so many and sweet 'Tis known that Thou and I were one, I'll think it but a fond conceit— It cannot be, that Thou art gone! Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd:— And thou wert aye a masker bold! What strange disguise hast now put on To make believe that thou art gone? I see these locks in silvery slips, This drooping gait, this alter'd size: But Springtide blossoms on thy lips, And tears take sunshine from thine eyes! Life is but Thought: so think I will That Youth and I are housemates still. Dew-drops are the gems of morning, But the tears of mournful eve! Where no hope is, life's a warning That only serves to make us grieve When we are old: —That only serves to make us grieve With oft and tedious taking-leave, Like some poor nigh-related guest That may not rudely be dismist, Yet hath out-stay'd his welcome while, And tells the jest without a smile. S. T. COLERIDGE. 281. THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS. We walk'd along, while bright and red Uprose the morning sun; And Matthew stopp'd, he looked, and said, "The will of God be done!" A village schoolmaster was he, With hair of glittering gray; As blithe a man as you could see On a spring holiday. And on that morning, through the grass, And by the steaming rills We travel'd merrily, to pass A day among the hills. "Our work," said I, "was well begun; Then, from thy breast what thought, Beneath so beautiful a sun, So sad a sigh has brought?" A second time did Matthew stop; And fixing still his eye Upon the eastern mountain-top, To me he made reply: "Yon cloud with that long purple cleft Brings fresh into my mind A day like this, which I have left Full thirty years behind. "And just above yon slope of corn Such colours, and no other, Were in the sky, that April morn Of this the very brother. "With rod and line I sued the sport Which that sweet season gave, And, to the church-yard come, stopp'd short Beside my daughter's grave. "Nine summers had she scarcely seen, The pride of all the vale; And then she sang:—she would have been A very nightingale. "Six feet in earth my Emma lay; And yet I loved her more— For so it seem'd,—than till that day I e'er had loved before. "And, turning from her grave, I met, Beside the church-yard yew, A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet With points of morning dew. "A basket on her head she bare; Her brow was smooth and white: To see a child so very fair, It was a pure delight! "No fountain from its rocky cave E'er tripped with foot so free; She seem'd as happy as a wave That dances on the sea. "There came from me a sigh of pain Which I could ill confine; I looked at her, and looked again And did not wish her mine!" —Matthew is in his grave, yet now, Methinks I see him stand As at that moment, with a bough Of wilding in his hand. W. WORDSWORTH. 282. THE FOUNTAIN. A Conversation. We talk'd with open heart, and tongue Affectionate and true, A pair of friends, though I was young, And Matthew seventy-two. We lay beneath a spreading oak, Beside a mossy seat; And from the turf a fountain broke And gurgled at our feet. "Now, Matthew!" said I "let us match This water's pleasant tune With some old border song, or catch That suits a summer's noon. "Or of the church-clock and the chimes Sing here beneath the shade That half-mad thing of witty rhymes Which you last April made!" In silence Matthew lay, and eyed The spring beneath the tree; And thus the dear old man replied, The gray-hair'd man of glee: "No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears, How merrily it goes! 'Twill murmur on a thousand years And flow as now it flows. "And here, on this delightful day I cannot choose but think How oft, a vigorous man, I lay Beside this fountain's brink. "My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirr'd, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard. "Thus fares it still in our decay: And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what Age takes away, Than what it leaves behind. "The blackbird amid leafy trees— The lark above the hill, Let loose their carols when they please, Are quiet when they will. "With Nature never do they wage A foolish strife; they see A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free: "But we are press'd by heavy laws; And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy, because We have been glad of yore. "If there be one who need bemoan His kindred laid in earth, The household hearts that were his own,— It is the man of mirth. "My days, my friend, are almost gone, My life has been approved, And many love me; but by none Am I enough beloved." "Now both himself and me he wrongs, The man who thus complains! I live and sing my idle songs Upon these happy plains: "And Matthew, for thy children dead I'll be a son to thee!" At this he grasp'd my hand and said, "Alas! that cannot be." We rose up from the fountain-side; And down the smooth descent Of the green sheep-track did we glide And through the wood we went; And, ere we came to Leonard's Rock, He sang those witty rhymes About the crazy old church-clock, And the bewilder'd chimes. W. WORDSWORTH. 283. THE RIVER OF LIFE. The more we live, more brief appear Our life's succeeding stages: A day to childhood seems a year, And years like passing ages. The gladsome current of our youth Ere passion yet disorders, Steals lingering like a river smooth Along its grassy borders. But as the careworn cheek grows wan, And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, Ye Stars, that measure life to man, Why seem your courses quicker? When joys have lost their bloom and breath And life itself is vapid, Why, as we reach the Falls of Death, Feel we its tide more rapid? It may be strange—yet who would change Time's course to lower speeding, When one by one our friends have gone And left our bosoms bleeding? Heaven gives our years of fading strength Indemnifying fleetness; And those of youth, a seeming length, Proportion'd to their sweetness. T. CAMPBELL. 284. THE HUMAN SEASONS. Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of Man: He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span: He has his summer, when luxuriously Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate, and by such dreaming high Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings He furleth close; contented so to look On mists in idleness—to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook:— He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, Or else he would forego his mortal nature. J. KEATS. 285. A LAMENT. O World! O Life! O Time! On whose last steps I climb, Trembling at that where I had stood before; When will return the glory of your prime? No more—O never more! Out of the day and night A joy has taken flight: Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight No more—O never more! P.B. SHELLEY. 286. My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began, So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man: I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. W. WORDSWORTH. 287. ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD. There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight To me did seem Apparell'd in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore;— Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more! The rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the rose; The moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth. Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, And while the young lambs bound As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief: A timely utterance gave that thought relief, And I again am strong. The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep,— No more shall grief of mine the season wrong: I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay; Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every beast keep holiday;— Thou child of joy, Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd boy! Ye blesséd creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make; I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; My heart is at your festival, My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss, I feel—I feel it all. O evil day! if I were sullen While Earth herself is adorning This sweet May morning, And the children are pulling On every side In a thousand valleys far and wide Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm:— I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! —But there's a tree, of many, one, A single field which I have look'd upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone: The pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream? Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting And cometh from afar; Not in entire forgetfulness And not in utter nakedness But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing boy, But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy, The youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature's priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended; At length the man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day. Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster-child, her inmate, Man, Forget the glories he hath known And that imperial palace whence he came. Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years' darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learnéd art; A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral; And this hath now his heart, And unto this he frames his song: Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife; But it will not be long Ere this be thrown aside, And with new joy and pride The little actor cons another part; Filling from time to time his "humorous stage" With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, That life brings with her in her equipage; As if his whole vocation Were endless imitation. Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy soul's immensity; Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,— Mighty prophet! Seer blest! On whom those truths do rest Which we are toiling all our lives to find; In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; Thou, over whom thy immortality Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave, A presence which is not to be put by; Thou little child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest, Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast: —Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings, Blank misgivings of a creature Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts, before which our mortal nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised: But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, Are yet a master-light of all our seeing; Uphold us—cherish—and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal silence: truths that wake, To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour Nor man nor boy Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy! Hence, in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither; Can in a moment travel thither— And see the children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song! And let the young lambs bound As to the tabor's sound! We, in thought, will join your throng Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May! What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind, In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be, In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering, In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind. And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Forebode not any severing of our loves! Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; I only have relinquish'd one delight To live beneath your more habitual sway; I love the brooks which down their channels fret Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they; The innocent brightness of a new-born day Is lovely yet; The clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober colouring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. W. WORDSWORTH. 288. Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory— Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap'd for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts, when Thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on. P.B. SHELLEY. PALGRAVE'S NOTES. Poem 2. Rouse Memnon's mother : Awaken the Dawn from the dark Earth and the clouds where she is resting. Aurora in the old mythology is mother of Memnon (the East), and wife of Tithonus (the appearances of Earth and Sky during the last hours of Night). She leaves him every morning in renewed youth, to prepare the way for Phoebus (the Sun), whilst Tithonus remains in perpetual old age and grayness. by Peneus' streams : Phoebus loved the Nymph Daphne whom he met by the river Peneus in the vale of Tempe. This legend expressed the attachment of the Laurel (Daphne) to the Sun, under whose heat the tree both fades and flourishes. It has been thought worth while to explain these allusions, because they illustrate the character of the Grecian Mythology, which arose in the Personification of natural phenomena, and was totally free from those debasing and ludicrous ideas with which, through Roman and later misunderstanding or perversion, it has been associated. Amphion's lyre : He was said to have built the walls of Thebes to the sound of his music. Night like a drunkard reels : Compare Romeo and Juliet, Act II. Scene 3: "The gray-eyed morn smiles," etc.—It should be added that three lines, which appeared hopelessly misprinted, have been omitted in this Poem. Poem 4. Time's chest : in which he is figuratively supposed to lay up past treasures. So in Troilus, Act III. Scene 3, "Time hath a wallet at his back," etc. Poem 5. A fine example of the high-wrought and conventional Elizabethan Pastoralism, which it would be ludicrous to criticise on the ground of the unshepherdlike or unreal character of some images suggested. Stanza 6 was probably inserted by Izaak Walton. Poem 9. This Poem, with 25 and 94, is taken from Davison's "Rhapsody," first published in 1602. One stanza has been here omitted, in accordance with the principle noticed in the Preface. Similar omissions occur in 45, 87, 100, 128, 160, 165, 227, 235. The more serious abbreviation by which it has been attempted to bring Crashaw's "Wishes" and Shelley's "Euganean Hills" within the limits of lyrical unity, is commended with much diffidence to the judgment of readers acquainted with the original pieces. Presence in line 12 is here conjecturally printed for present . A very few similar corrections of (it is presumed) misprints have been made:—as thy for my , 22, line 9: men for me , 41, line 3: viol for idol , 252, line 43, and one for our , line 90: locks for looks , 271, line 5: dome for doom , 275, line 25:—with two or three more less important. Poem 15. This charming little poem, truly "old and plain, and dallying with the innocence of love" like that spoken of in Twelfth Night, is taken with 5, 17, 20, 34, and 40, from the most characteristic collection of Elizabeth's reign, "England's Helicon," first published in 1600. Poem 16. Readers who have visited Italy will be reminded of more than one picture by this gorgeous Vision of Beauty, equally sublime and pure in its Paradisaical naturalness. Lodge wrote it on a voyage to "the Islands of Terceras and the Canaries"; and he seems to have caught, in those southern seas, no small portion of the qualities which marked the almost contemporary Art of Venice,—the glory and the glow of Veronese, or Titian, or Tintoret, when he most resembles Titian, and all but surpasses him. The clear : is the crystalline or outermost heaven of the old cosmography. For resembling other copies give refining : the correct reading is perhaps revealing . For a fair there's fairer none : If you desire a Beauty, there is none more beautiful than Rosaline. Poem 18. that fair thou owest : that beauty thou ownest. Poem 23. the star Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken : apparently, Whose stellar influence is uncalculated, although his angular altitude from the plane of the astrolabe or artificial horizon used by astrologers has been determined. Poem 27. keel : skim. Poem 29. expense : waste. Poem 30. Nativity once in the main of light : when a star has risen and entered on the full stream of light;—another of the astrological phrases no longer familiar. Crooked eclipses : as coming athwart the Sun's apparent course. Wordsworth, thinking probably of the "Venus" and the "Lucrece," said finely of Shakespeare "Shakespeare could not have written an Epic; he would have died of plethora of thought." This prodigality of nature is exemplified equally in his Sonnets. The copious selection here given (which from the wealth of the material, required greater consideration than any other portion of the Editor's task) contains many that will not be fully felt and understood without some earnestness of thought on the reader's part. But he is not likely to regret the labour. Poem 31. upon misprision growing : either, granted in error, or, on the growth of contempt. Poem 32. With the tone of this Sonnet compare Hamlet's "Give me that man That is not passion's slave," etc. Shakespeare's writings show the deepest sensitiveness to passion:—hence the attraction he felt in the contrasting effects of apathy. Poem 33. grame : sorrow. It was long before English Poetry returned to the charming simplicity of this and a few other poems by Wyat. Poem 34. Pandion in the ancient fable was father to Philomela. Poem 38. ramage : confused noise. Poem 39. censures : judges. Poem 40. By its style this beautiful example of old simplicity and feeling may be referred to the early years of Elizabeth. Late forgot : lately. Poem 41. haggards : the least tameable hawks. Poem 44. cypres or cyprus,—used by the old writers for crape : whether from the French crespe or from the Island whence it was imported. Its accidental similarity in spelling to cypress has, here and in Milton's Penseroso, probably confused readers. Poems 46, 47. "I never saw anything like this funeral dirge," says Charles Lamb, "except the ditty which reminds Ferdinand of his drowned father in the Tempest. As that is of the water, watery; so this is of the earth, earthy. Both have that intenseness of feeling, which seems to resolve itself into the element which it contemplates." Poem 51. crystal : fairness. Poem 53. This "Spousal Verse" was written in honour of the Ladies Elizabeth and Katherine Somerset. Although beautiful, it is inferior to the "Epithalamion" on Spenser's own marriage,—omitted with great reluctance as not in harmony with modern manners. feateously : elegantly. shend : put out. a noble peer : Robert Devereux, second Lord Essex, then at the height of his brief triumph after taking Cadiz: hence the allusion following to the Pillars of Hercules, placed near Gades by ancient legend. Eliza : Elizabeth; twins of Jove : the stars Castor and Pollux; baldric : belt, the zodiac. Poem 57. A fine example of a peculiar class of Poetry;—that written by thoughtful men who practised this Art but little. Wotton's, 72, is another. Jeremy Taylor, Bishop Berkeley, Dr. Johnson, Lord Macaulay, have left similar specimens. Poem 62. whist : hushed; Pan : used here for the Lord of all; Lars and Lemures : household Gods and spirits of relations dead; Flamens : Roman priests; That twice-batter'd god : Dagon. Osiris , the Egyptian god of Agriculture (here, perhaps by confusion with Apis, figured as a Bull), was torn to pieces by Typho and embalmed after death in a sacred chest. This myth, reproduced in Syria and Greece in the legends of Thammuz, Adonis, and perhaps Absyrtus, represents the annual death of the Sun or the Year under the influences of the winter darkness. Horus, the son of Osiris, as the New Year, in his turn overcomes Typho.—It suited the genius of Milton's time to regard this primaeval poetry and philosophy of the seasons, which has a further reference to the contest of Good and Evil in Creation, as a malignant idolatry. Shelley's Chorus in Hellas , "Worlds on worlds," treats the subject in a larger and sweeter spirit. unshower'd grass : as watered by the Nile only. Poem 64. The Late Massacre : the Vaudois persecution, carried on in 1655 by the Duke of Savoy. This "collect in verse," as it has been justly named, is the most mighty Sonnet in any language known to the Editor. Readers should observe that, unlike our sonnets of the sixteenth century, it is constructed , on the original Italian or Provençal model,—unquestionably far superior to the imperfect form employed by Shakespeare and Drummond. Poem 65. Cromwell returned from Ireland in 1650. Hence the prophecies, not strictly fulfilled, of his deference to the Parliament, in stanzas 21-24. This Ode, beyond doubt one of the finest in our language, and more in Milton's style than has been reached by any other poet, is occasionally obscure from imitation of the condensed Latin syntax. The meaning of st. 5 is "rivalry or hostility are the same to a lofty spirit, and limitation more hateful than opposition." The allusion in st. 11 is to the old physical doctrines of the non-existence of a vacuum and the impenetrability of matter:—in st. 17 to the omen traditionally connected with the foundation of the Capitol at Rome. The ancient belief that certain years in life complete natural periods and are hence peculiarly exposed to death, is introduced in stanza 26 by the word climacteric . Poem 66. Lycidas . The person lamented is Milton's college friend Edward King, drowned in 1637 whilst crossing from Chester to Ireland. Strict Pastoral Poetry was first written or perfected by the Dorian Greeks settled in Sicily: but the conventional use of it, exhibited more magnificently in Lycidas than in any other pastoral, is apparently of Roman origin. Milton, employing the noble freedom of a great artist, has here united ancient mythology, with what may be called the modern mythology of Camus and Saint Peter,—to direct Christian images.—The metrical structure of this glorious poem is partly derived from Italian models. Sisters of the sacred well : the Muses, said to frequent the fountain Helicon on Mount Parnassus. Mona : Anglesea, called by the Welsh Inis Dowil or the Dark Island, from its dense forests. Deva : the Dee: a river which probably derived its magical character from Celtic traditions: it was long the boundary of Briton and Saxon.—These places are introduced, as being near the scene of the shipwreck. Orpheus was torn to pieces by Thracian women; Amaryllis and Neaera names used here for the love idols of poets: as Damoetas previously for a shepherd. the blind Fury : Atropos, fabled to cut the thread of life. Arethuse and Mincius : Sicilian and Italian waters here alluded to as synonymous with the pastoral poetry of Theocritus and Virgil. oat : pipe, used here like Collins' oaten stop , No. 146, for Song . Hippotades : Aeolus, god of the Winds. Panope a Nereid. The names of local deities in the Hellenic mythology express generally some feature in the natural landscape, which the Greeks studied and analysed with their usual unequalled insight and feeling. Panope represents the boundlessness of the ocean-horizon when seen from a height, as compared with a limited horizon of the land in hilly countries such as Greece or Asia Minor. Camus : the Cam; put for King's University. The sanguine flower : the Hyacinth of the ancients; probably our Iris. The pilot : Saint Peter, figuratively introduced as the head of the Church on earth, to foretell "the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their heighth" under Laud's primacy. the wolf : Popery. Alpheus : a stream in Southern Greece, supposed to flow underseas to meet the Arethuse. Swart star : the Dogstar, called swarthy because its heliacal rising in ancient times occurred soon after mid-summer. moist vows : either tearful prayers, or prayers for one at sea. Bellerus : a giant, apparently created here by Milton to personify Bellerium, the ancient title of the Land's End. The great Vision :—The story was that the Archangel Michael had appeared on the rock by Marazion in Mount's Bay which bears his name. Milton calls on him to turn his eyes from the south homeward, and to pity Lycidas, if his body has drifted into the troubled waters of the Land's End. Finisterre being the land due south of Marazion, two places in that district (then by our trade with Corunna probably less unfamiliar to English ears), are named,— Namancos now Mujio in Galicia, Bayona north of the Minho, or, perhaps a fortified rock (one of the Cies Islands) not unlike St. Michael's Mount, at the entrance of Vigo Bay. ore : rays of golden light. Doric lay : Sicilian, pastoral. Poem 70. The assault : was an attack on London expected in 1642, when the troops of Charles I. reached Brentford. "Written on his door" was in the original title of this sonnet. Milton was then living in Aldersgate Street. Emathian Conqueror : When Thebes was destroyed (B.C. 335) and the citizens massacred by thousands, Alexander ordered the house of Pindar to be spared. He was as incapable of appreciating the Poet as Lewis XIV. of appreciating Racine: but even the narrow and barbarian mind of Alexander could understand the advantage of a showy act of homage to Poetry. the repeated air \Of sad Electra's poet : Amongst Plutarch's vague stories, he says that when the Spartan confederacy in 404 B.C. took Athens, a proposal to demolish it was rejected through the effect produced on the commanders by hearing part of a chorus from the Electra of Euripides sung at a feast. There is however no apparent congruity between the lines quoted (167, 8 Ed. Dindorf) and the result ascribed to them. Poem 73. This high-toned and lovely Madrigal is quite in the style, and worthy of, the "pure Simonides." Poem 75. Vaughan's beautiful though quaint verses should be compared with Wordsworth's great Ode, No. 287. Poem 76. Favonius : the spring wind. Poem 77. Themis : the goddess of justice. Skinner was grandson by his mother to Sir E. Coke;—hence, as pointed out by Mr. Keightley, Milton's allusion to the bench . what the Swede intends, and what the French : Sweden was then at war with Poland, and France with the Spanish Netherlands. Poem 79. Sydneian showers : either in allusion to the conversations in the "Arcadia," or to Sidney himself as a model of "gentleness" in spirit and demeanour. Poem 84. Elizabeth of Bohemia : Daughter to James I., and ancestor to Sophia of Hanover. These lines are a fine specimen of gallant and courtly compliment. Poem 85. Lady M. Ley was daughter to Sir J. Ley, afterwards Earl of Marlborough, who died March, 1628-9, coincidently with the dissolution of the third Parliament of Charles's reign. Hence Milton poetically compares his death to that of the Orator Isocrates of Athens, after Philip's victory in 328 B.C. Poems 92, 93. These are quite a Painter's poems. Poem 99. From Prison : to which his active support of Charles I. twice brought the high-spirited writer. Poem 105. Inserted in Book II. as written in the character of a Soldier of Fortune in the Seventeenth Century. Poem 106. Waly waly : an exclamation of sorrow, the root and the pronunciation of which are preserved in the word caterwaul . Brae : hillside; burn : brook; busk : adorn. Saint Anton's Well : at the foot of Arthur's Seat by Edinburgh. Cramasie : crimson. Poem 107. burd : maiden. Poem 108. corbies : crows; fail : turf; hause : neck; theek : thatch. If not in their origin, in their present form this and the two preceding poems appear due to the Seventeenth Century, and have therefore been placed in Book II. Poem 111. The remark quoted in the note to No. 47 applies equally to these truly wonderful verses, which, like "Lycidas," may be regarded as a test of any reader's insight into the most poetical aspects of Poetry. The general differences between them are vast: but in imaginative intensity Marvell and Shelley are closely related. This poem is printed as a translation in Marvell's works: but the original Latin is obviously his own. The most striking verses in it, here quoted as the book is rare, answer more or less to stanzas 2 and 6: Alma Quies, teneo te! et te, germana Quietis, Simplicitas! vos ergo diu per templa, per urbes Quaesivi, regum perque alta palatia, frustra: Sed vos hortorum per opaca silentia, longe Celarunt plantae virides, et concolor umbra. Poems 112&113. L'Allegro and Il Penseroso . It is a striking proof of Milton's astonishing power, that these, the earliest pure Descriptive Lyrics in our language, should still remain the best in a style which so many great poets have since attempted. The Bright and the Thoughtful aspects of Nature are their subjects: but each is preceded by a mythological introduction in a mixed Classical and Italian manner. The meaning of the first is that Gaiety is the child of Nature; of the second, that Pensiveness is the daughter of Sorrow and Genius. 112: Perverse ingenuity has conjectured that for Cerberus we should read Erebus , who in the Mythology is brother at once and husband of Night. But the issue of this union is not Sadness, but Day and Aether:—completing the circle of primary creation, as the parents are both children of Chaos, the first-begotten of all things. (Hesiod.) the mountain nymph : compare Wordsworth's Sonnet, No. 210. The clouds in thousand liveries dight : is in apposition to the preceding, by a grammatical license not uncommon with Milton. tells his tale : counts his flock; Cynosure : the Pole Star; Corydon, Thyrsis , etc.: Shepherd names from the old Idylls; Jonson's learned sock : the gaiety of our age would find little pleasure in his elaborate comedies; Lydian airs : a light and festive style of ancient music. 113: bestead : avail. starr'd Ethiop queen : Cassiopeia, the legendary Queen of Ethiopia, and thence translated amongst the constellations. Cynthia : the Moon: her chariot is drawn by dragons in ancient representations. Hermes : called Trismegistus, a mystical writer of the Neo-Platonist school; Thebes , etc.: subjects of Athenian Tragedy; Buskin'd : tragic; Musaeus : a poet in Mythology. him that left half told : Chaucer, in his incomplete "Squire's Tale." great bards : Ariosto, Tasso, and Spenser, are here intended. frounced : curled; The Attic Boy : Cephalus. Poem 114. Emigrants supposed to be driven towards America by the government of Charles I. But apples , etc.: A fine example of Marvell's imaginative hyperbole. Poem 115. concent : harmony. Poem 123. The Bard .: This Ode is founded on a fable that Edward I., after conquering Wales, put the native Poets to death. After lamenting his comrades (st. 2, 3) the Bard prophesies the fate of Edward II. and the conquests of Edward III. (4); his death and that of the Black Prince (5): of Richard II, with the wars of York and Lancaster, the murder of Henry VI. (the meek usurper ), and of Edward V. and his brother (6). He turns to the glory and prosperity following the accession of the Tudors (7), through Elizabeth's reign (8): and concludes with a vision of the poetry of Shakespeare and Milton. Glo'ster : Gilbert de Clare, son-in-law to Edward; Mortimer : one of the Lords Marchers of Wales. Arvon : the shores of Carnarvonshire opposite Anglesey. She-wolf : Isabel of France, adulterous Queen of Edward II.; Towers of Julius : the Tower of London, built in part, according to tradition, by Julius Caesar. bristled boar : the badge of Richard III. Half of thy heart : Queen Eleanor died soon after the conquest of Wales. Arthur : Henry VII. named his eldest son thus, in deference to British feeling and legend. Poem 125. The Highlanders called the battle of Culloden, Drumossie. Poem 126. lilting : singing blithely; loaning : broad lane; bughts : pens; scorning : rallying; dowie : dreary; daffin' and gabbin' : joking and chatting; leglin : milkpail; shearing : reaping; bandsters : sheaf-binders; lyart : grizzled; runkled : wrinkled; fleeching : coaxing; gloaming : twilight; bogle : ghost; dool : sorrow. Poem 128. The Editor has found no authoritative text of this poem, in his judgment superior to any other of its class in melody and pathos. Part is probably not later than the seventeenth century: in other stanzas a more modern hand, much resembling Scott's, is traceable. Logan's poem (127) exhibits a knowledge rather of the old legend than of the old verses. Hecht : promised, the obsolete hight ; mavis : thrush; ilka : every; lav'rock : lark; haughs : valley-meadows; twined : parted from; marrow : mate; syne then. Poem 129. The Royal George , of 108 guns, whilst undergoing a partial careening in Portsmouth Harbour, was overset about 10 A.M. Aug. 29, 1782. The total loss was believed to be near 1000 souls. Poem 131. A little masterpiece in a very difficult style: Catullus himself could hardly have bettered it. In grace, tenderness, simplicity, and humour it is worthy of the Ancients; and even more so, from the completeness and unity of the picture presented. Poem 136. Perhaps no writer who has given such strong proofs of the poetic nature has left less satisfactory poetry than Thomson. Yet he touched little which he did not beautify: and this song, with "Rule Britannia" and a few others, must make us regret that he did not more seriously apply himself to lyrical writing. Poem 140. Aeolian lyre : the Greeks ascribed the origin of their Lyrical Poetry to the colonies of Aeolis in Asia Minor. Thracia's hills supposed a favourite resort of Mars. Feather'd king the Eagle of Jupiter, admirably described by Pindar in a passage here imitated by Gray. Idalia : in Cyprus, where Cytherea (Venus) was especially worshipped. Hyperion : the Sun. St. 6-8 allude to the Poets of the Islands and Mainland of Greece, to those of Rome and of England. Theban Eagle : Pindar. Poem 141. chaste-eyed Queen : Diana. Poem 142. Attic warbler : the nightingale. Poem 144. sleekit : sleek; bickering brattle : flittering flight; laith : loth; pattle : ploughstaff; whyles : at times; a daimen icker : a corn-ear now and then; thrave : shock; lave : rest; foggage : aftergrass; snell : biting; but hald : without dwelling-place; thole : bear; cranreuch : hoarfrost; thy lane : alone; a-gley : off the right line, awry. Poem 147. Perhaps the noblest stanzas in our language. Poem 148. stoure : dust-storm; braw : smart. Poem 149. scaith : hurt; tent : guard; steer : molest. Poem 151. drumlie : muddy; birk : birch. Poem 152. greet : cry; daurna : dare not.—There can hardly exist a poem more truly tragic in the highest sense than this: nor, except Sappho, has any Poetess known to the Editor equalled it in excellence. Poem 153. fou : merry with drink; coost : carried; unco skeigh : very proud; gart : forced; abeigh : aside; Ailsa craig : a rock in the Firth of Clyde; grat his een bleert : cried till his eyes were bleared; lowpin : leaping; linn : waterfall; sair : sore; smoor'd : smothered; crouse and canty : blythe and gay. Poem 154. Burns justly named this "one of the most beautiful songs in the Scots or any other language." One verse, interpolated by Beattie, is here omitted:—it contains two good lines, but is quite out of harmony with the original poem. Bigonet : little cap, probably altered from beguinette ; thraw : twist; caller : fresh. Poem 155. airts : quarters; row : roll; shaw : small wood in a hollow, spinney; knowes : knolls. Poem 156. jo : sweetheart; brent : smooth; pow : head. Poem 157. leal : faithful; fain : happy. Poem 158. Henry VI. founded Eton. Poem 161. The Editor knows no Sonnet more remarkable than this, which, with 162, records Cowper's gratitude to the Lady whose affectionate care for many years gave what sweetness he could enjoy to a life radically wretched. Petrarch's sonnets have a more ethereal grace and a more perfect finish; Shakespeare's more passion; Milton's stand supreme in stateliness, Wordsworth's in depth and delicacy. But Cowper's unites with an exquisiteness in the turn of thought which the ancients would have called Irony, an intensity of pathetic tenderness peculiar to his loving and ingenuous nature. There is much mannerism, much that is unimportant or of now exhausted interest in his poems: but where he is great, it is with that elementary greatness which rests on the most universal human feelings. Cowper is our highest master in simple pathos. Poem 163. fancied green : cherished garden. Poem 164. Nothing except his surname appears recoverable with regard to the author of this truly noble poem: It should be noted as exhibiting a rare excellence,—the climax of simple sublimity. It is a lesson of high instructiveness to examine the essential qualities which give first-rate poetical rank to lyrics such as "To-morrow" or "Sally in our Alley," when compared with poems written (if the phrase may be allowed) in keys so different as the subtle sweetness of Shelley, the grandeur of Gray and Milton, or the delightful Pastoralism of the Elizabethan verse. Intelligent readers will gain hence a clear understanding of the vast imaginative, range of Poetry;—through what wide oscillations the mind and the taste of a nation may pass;—how many are the roads which Truth and Nature open to Excellence. Poem 166. stout Cortez : History requires here Balbóa: (A.T.) It may be noticed, that to find in Chapman's Homer the "pure serene" of the original, the reader must bring with him the imagination of the youthful poet;—he must be "a Greek himself," as Shelley finely said of Keats. Poem 169. The most tender and true of Byron's smaller poems. Poem 170. This poem, with 236, exemplifies the peculiar skill with which Scott employs proper names: nor is there a surer sign of high poetical genius. Poem 191. The Editor in this and in other instances has risked the addition (or the change) of a Title, that the aim of the verses following may be grasped more clearly and immediately. Poem 198. Nature's Eremite : refers to the fable of the Wandering Jew.—This beautiful sonnet was the last word of a poet deserving the title "marvellous boy" in a much higher sense than Chatterton. If the fulfilment may ever safely be prophesied from the promise, England appears to have lost in Keats one whose gifts in Poetry have rarely been surpassed. Shakespeare, Milton, and Wordsworth, had their lives been closed at twenty-five, would (so far as we know) have left poems of less excellence and hope than the youth who, from the petty school and the London surgery, passed at once to a place with them of "high collateral glory." Poem 201. It is impossible not to regret that Moore has written so little in this sweet and genuinely national style. Poem 202. A masterly example of Byron's command of strong thought and close reasoning in verse:—as the next is equally characteristic of Shelley's wayward intensity, and 204 of the dramatic power, the vital identification of the poet with other times and characters, in which Scott is second only to Shakespeare. Poem 209. Bonnivard, a Genevese, was imprisoned by the Duke of Savoy in Chillon on the lake of Geneva for his courageous defence of his country against the tyranny with which Piedmont threatened it during the first half of the seventeenth century. This noble Sonnet is worthy to stand near Milton's on the Vaudois massacre. Poem 210. Switzerland was usurped by the French under Napoleon in 1800: Venice in 1797 (211). Poem 215. This battle was fought Dec. 2, 1800, between the Austrians under Archduke John and the French under Moreau, in a forest near Munich. Hohen Linden means High Limetrees . Poem 218. After the capture of Madrid by Napoleon, Sir J. Moore retreated before Soult and Ney to Corunna, and was killed whilst covering the embarcation of his troops. His tomb, built by Ney, bears this inscription—"John Moore, leader of the English armies, slain in battle, 1809." Poem 229. The Mermaid was the club-house of Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and other choice spirits of that age. Poem 230. Maisie : Mary. Scott has given us nothing more complete and lovely than this little song, which unites simplicity and dramatic power to a wild-wood music of the rarest quality. No moral is drawn, far less any conscious analysis of feeling attempted:—the pathetic meaning is left to be suggested by the mere presentiment of the situation. Inexperienced critics have often named this, which may be called the Homeric manner, superficial, from its apparent simple facility: but first-rate excellence in it (as shown here, in 196, 156, and 129) is in truth one of the least common triumphs of Poetry.—This style should be compared with what is not less perfect in its way, the searching out of inner feeling, the expression of hidden meanings, the revelation of the heart of Nature and of the Soul within the Soul,—the analytical method, in short,—most completely represented by Wordsworth and by Shelley. Poem 234. correi : covert on a hillside; Cumber : trouble. Poem 235. Two intermediate stanzas have been here omitted. They are very ingenious, but, of all poetical qualities, ingenuity is least in accordance with pathos. Poem 243. This poem has an exaltation and a glory, joined with an exquisiteness of expression, which place it in the highest rank amongst the many masterpieces of its illustrious Author. Poem 252. interlunar swoon : interval of the Moon's invisibility. Poem 256. Calpe : Gibraltar; Lofoden : the Maelstrom whirlpool off the N.-W. coast of Norway. Poem 257. This lovely poem refers here and there to a ballad by Hamilton on the subject better treated in 127 and 128. Poem 268. Arcturi : seemingly used for northern stars . And wild roses , etc. Our language has no line modulated with more subtle sweetness. A good poet might have written And roses wild :—yet this slight change would disenchant the verse of its peculiar beauty. Poem 270. Ceres' daughter : Proserpine; God of Torment : Pluto. Poem 271. This impassioned address expresses Shelley's most rapt imaginations, and is the direct modern representative of the feeling which led the Greeks to the worship of Nature. Poem 274. The leading idea of this beautiful description of a day's landscape in Italy is expressed with an obscurity not unfrequent with its author. It appears to be,—On the voyage of life are many moments of pleasure, given by the sight of Nature, who has power to heal even the worldliness and the uncharity of man. Amphitrite was daughter to Ocean. Sun-girt City : It is difficult not to believe that the correct reading is Seagirt . Many of Shelley's poems appear to have been printed in England during his residence abroad: others were printed from his manuscripts after his death. Hence probably the text of no English Poet after 1660 contains so many errors. See the Note on No. 9.