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NIELS EBBESEN. All his men the Count collects,   And from Slesvig marched away;Never such as host was seen   Or before or since that day. Into Denmark marched the Count,   Followed by so fair a band;Banners twenty-four they bore,   Power like theirs might none withstand. Gert the Count to Randers rode,   To bad counsel lending ear;For from old it stood foretold,   He should end there his... more...

No species of poetry is more ancient than the lyrical, and yet none shows so little sign of having outlived the requirements of human passion. The world may grow tired of epics and of tragedies, but each generation, as it sees the hawthorns blossom and the freshness of girlhood expand, is seized with a pang which nothing but the spasm of verse will relieve. Each youth imagines that spring-tide and love... more...

THE THINGS THAT MATTER.   NOW that I've nearly done my days,  And grown too stiff to sweep or sew,  I sit and think, till I'm amaze,  About what lots of things I know:  Things as I've found out one by one—  And when I'm fast down in the clay,  My knowing things and how they're done  Will all be lost and thrown away.   There's things, I know, as... more...

A FROG HE WOULDA-WOOING GO         A Frog he would a-wooing go,            Heigho, says Rowley!Whether his Mother would let him or no.        With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,            Heigho, says Anthony Rowley! So off he set with his opera-hat,            Heigho, says Rowley!And on his way he met with a Rat.        With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach, ... more...

To some the eighteenth-century definition of proper poetic matter is unacceptable; but to any who believe that true poetry may (if not "must") consist in "what oft was thought but ne'er so well expressed," Gray's "Churchyard" is a majestic achievement—perhaps (accepting the definition offered) the supreme achievement of its century. Its success, so the great critic... more...

INTRODUCTION Upon being asked by a Reader whether the verses contained in this book were true.   And is it True? It is not True.And if it were it wouldn’t do,For people such as me and youWho pretty nearly all day longAre doing something rather wrong.Because if things were really so,You would have perished long ago,And I would not have lived to writeThe noble lines that meet your sight,Nor B. T. B.... more...

EROS The sense of the world is short,—Long and various the report,—To love and be beloved;Men and gods have not outlearned it;And, how oft soe'er they've turned it,'Tis not to be improved. Ralph Waldo Emerson [1803-1882] "NOW WHAT IS LOVE" Now what is Love, I pray thee, tell?It is that fountain and that wellWhere pleasure and repentance dwell;It is, perhaps, the sauncing... more...

Select English Classics which the publishers have in course of preparation. The series will include an extensive variety of selections chosen from the different departments of English literature, and arranged and annotated for the use of classes in schools. It will embrace, among other things, representative specimens from all the best English writers, whether of poetry or of prose; selections from... more...

TO HOPE.Oh! take, young Seraph, take thy harp,And play to me so cheerily;For grief is dark, and care is sharp,And life wears on so wearily.Oh! take thy harp!Oh! sing as thou wert wont to do,When, all youth's sunny season long,I sat and listened to thy song,And yet 'twas ever, ever new,With magic in its heaven-tuned string—The future bliss thy constant theme.Oh! then each little woe took... more...

INTRODUCTION TO The Modern Gaelic Minstrelsy. The suspicion which arose in regard to the authenticity of Ossian, subsequent to his appearance in the pages of Macpherson, has unjustly excited a misgiving respecting the entire poetry of the Gael. With reference to the elder poetry of the Highlands, it has now been established that at the period of the Reformation, the natives were engrossed with the lays... more...