Forget not yet the great assays,

The cruel wrong, the scornful ways,
The painful patience in delays,

Forget not! O, forget not this,
How long ago hath been, and is
The mind that never meant amiss-

Forget not yet!

Forget not yet!

Forget not then thine own approved
The which so long hath thee so loved,
Whose steadfast faith yet never moved—

* III

Forget not this!
Thomas Wyatt

TO THE NIGHT.

Swiftly walk over the western wave,

Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where all the long and lone day light,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear-

Swift be thy flight

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,

Star-inwrought!

Blind with thine hair the eyes of day,
Kiss her until she be wearied out,

Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand-

Come, long-sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn,

I sighed for thee;

When light rode high, and the dew was gone,

And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to his rest
Lingering like an unloved guest,

I sighed for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried

Wouldst thou me ?

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noon-tide bee,

Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me? And I replied
No, not thee!

Death will come when thou art dead,

Soon, too soon

Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, beloved Night-

Swift be thine approaching flight,

Come soon, soon!

P. B. Shelley.

I 12 *

TO A FIELD MOUSE.

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie !
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,

Wi' bickering brattle !

I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee

Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion

Has broken nature's social union,
And justifies that ill opinion

Which makes thee startle

At me, thy poor earth-born companion,
And fellow-mortal!

I doubt na,whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!

A daimen icker in a thrave

'S a sma' request:

I'll get a blessing wi' the lave,
And never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie too, in ruin!
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin':
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!

An bleak December's winds ensuin'
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste

An' weary winter comin' fast,

An' cozie here, beneath the blast,

Thou thought to dwell,

Till crash! the cruel coulter past

Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble !
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,

To thole the winter's sleety dribble

An' cranreuch cauld!

But mousie, thou art no thy lane

In proving foresight may be vain :

The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley,

An' lea'e us nought but grief and pain,
For promised joy.

Still thou art blest, compared wi' me!

The present only toucheth thee:
But, och! I backward cast my e'e

On prospects drear!

An' forward, tho' I canna see,

I guess an' fear.

Robert Burns.

* 113*

TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON.

When love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair
And fettered to her eye,

The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,

Our careless heads with roses crowned,
Our hearts with loyal flames;

When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free-

Fishes that tipple in the deep

Know no such liberty.

When, linnet-like, confined, I

With shriller note shall sing

The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my king;

When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood,
Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage :
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

Richard Lovelace.

* 114*

ODE ON IMMORTALITY.

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth and every common sight
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,

The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it has 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 passed 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