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I Strings in the earth and airMake music sweet;Strings by the river whereThe willows meet. There's music along the riverFor Love wanders there,Pale flowers on his mantle,Dark leaves on his hair. All softly playing,With head to the music bent,And fingers strayingUpon an instrument. The twilight turns from amethystTo deep and deeper blue,The lamp fills with a pale green glowThe trees of the avenue.... more...

INTRODUCTION A SHORT LIFE OF ARNOLD Matthew Arnold, poet and critic, was born in the village of Laleham,Middlesex County, England, December 24, 1822. He was the son of Dr.Thomas Arnold, best remembered as the great Head Master at Rugby andin later years distinguished also as a historian of Rome, and of MaryPenrose Arnold, a woman of remarkable character and intellect. Devoid of stirring incident, and,... more...

The poetry of each age may be considered as vitally connected with, and as vividly reflective of, its character and progress, as either its politics or its religion. You see the nature of the soil of a garden in its tulips and roses, as much as in its pot-herbs and its towering trees. We purpose, accordingly, to compare briefly the poetry of the past and of the present centuries, as indices of some of... more...

ANALYSIS OF THE FIRST PART. THE Poem begins with the description of an obscure village, and of the pleasing melancholy which it excites on being revisited after a long absence. This mixed sensation is an effect of the Memory. From an effect we naturally ascend to the cause; and the subject proposed is then unfolded with an investigation of the nature and leading principles of this faculty. It is... more...

TAM I' THE KIRK O Jean, my Jean, when the bell ca's the congregationOwre valley an' hill wi' the ding frae its iron mou',When a'body's thochts is set on his ain salvation,  Mine's set on you. There's a reid rose lies on the Buik o' the Word 'afore yeThat was growin' braw on its bush at the keek o' day,But the lad that pu'd yon... more...

Th' Better Part. A poor owd man wi' tott'ring gait,Wi' body bent, and snowy pate,Aw met one day;—An' daan o' th' rooad side grassy banksHe sat to rest his weary shanks;An' aw, to wile away my time,O'th' neighbouring hillock did recline,An' bade "gooid day." Said aw, "Owd friend, pray tell me true,If in your heart yo niver rueThe time... more...

NOCTURNE WRITTEN IN AN INDIAN GARDEN'Where ignorance is bliss,'Tis folly to be wise.'The time-gun rolls his nerve-destroying bray;The toiling moon rides slowly o'er the trees;The weary diners cast their cares away,And seek the lawn for coolness and for ease.Now spreads the gathering stillness like a pall,And melancholy silence rules the scene,Save where the bugler sounds his homing... more...

DIVIDED. I. An empty sky, a world of heather,  Purple of foxglove, yellow of broom;We two among them wading together,  Shaking out honey, treading perfume. Crowds of bees are giddy with clover,  Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet,Crowds of larks at their matins hang over,  Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet. Flusheth the rise with her purple favor,  Gloweth the cleft with her golden... more...

BOOK I. THE VISION OF THE KING Before the gods that made the godsHad seen their sunrise pass,The White Horse of the White Horse ValeWas cut out of the grass. Before the gods that made the godsHad drunk at dawn their fill,The White Horse of the White Horse ValeWas hoary on the hill. Age beyond age on British land,Aeons on aeons gone,Was peace and war in western hills,And the White Horse looked on. For... more...

INTRODUCTION A hope of immortality and a sense of humor distinguish man from the beasts of the field. A single exception may be made, perhaps, of the Laughing Hyena, and, on the other hand, not every one of the human race possesses the power of laughter. For those who do, this volume is intended. And since there can be nothing humorous about an introduction, there can be small need of a lengthy one.... more...