242 ADDRESS TO LIGHT. The mountaineer cast glance of pride Then fix'd his eye and sable brow Full on Fitz-James-"How say'st thou now? Fitz-James was brave!-Though to his heart Scott. ADDRESS TO LIGHT. HAIL, holy light, offspring of heav'n first-born, May I express thee unblamed? Since God is light, And never but in unapproach'd light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detain'd TREES. I sung of chaos and eternal night; Taught by the heav'nly muse to venture down Of Nature's works, to me expunged and razed, 243 Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers Irradiate; there plant eyes, all mist from thence Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell Of things invisible to mortal sight. Milton. TREES. AND forth they pass, with pleasure forward led, Which, therein shrouded from the tempests dread, 244 MORNING AFTER A STORM. The builder oak, sole king of forests all; The laurel, meed of mighty conquerors Spenser. MORNING AFTER A STORM. THERE was a roaring in the wind all night; All things that love the sun are out of doors; The grass is bright with rain-drops; on the moors And with her feet she from the plashy earth Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run. Wordsworth. ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r, Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! 246 ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys and destiny obscure: Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the poor. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If memory o'er their tombs no trophies raise, Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? THE SAME CONTINUED. Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or wak'd to ecstacy the living lyre. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast, The little tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. |