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In an old world garden dreaming,Where the flowers had human names,Methought, in fantastic seeming,They disported as squires and dames. Of old in Rosamond's Bower,With it's peacock hedges of yew,One could never find the flowerUnless one was given the clue;So take the key of the wicket,Who would follow my fancy free,By formal knot and clipt thicket,And smooth greensward so fair to see And while... more...

POET LAUREATE. This book in its progress has recalled often to my memory a man with whose friendship we were once honoured, to whom no region of English literature was unfamiliar, and who, whilst rich in all the noble gifts of nature, was most eminently distinguished by the noblest and the rarest,—just judgment and high-hearted patriotism. It would have been hence a peculiar pleasure and pride to... more...

INTRODUCTION In an address to the American Society for Eighteenth Century Studies at the 1983 annual meeting, Roger Lonsdale suggested that our knowledge of eighteenth-century poetry has depended heavily on what our anthologies have decided to print. For the most part modern anthologies have, in turn, drawn on collections put together at the end of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the next,... more...

PART I. The Arrow and the Song. "The Arrow and the Song," by Longfellow (1807-82), is placed first in this volume out of respect to a little girl of six years who used to love to recite it to me. She knew many poems, but this was her favourite.I shot an arrow into the air,It fell to earth, I knew not where;For, so swiftly it flew, the sightCould not follow it in its flight.I breathed a song... more...

I.  FROM FREDERICK GRAHAM. Mother, I smile at your alarms!I own, indeed, my Cousin’s charms,But, like all nursery maladies,Love is not badly taken twice.Have you forgotten Charlotte Hayes,My playmate in the pleasant daysAt Knatchley, and her sister, Anne,The twins, so made on the same plan,That one wore blue, the other white,To mark them to their father’s sight;And how, at Knatchley harvesting,You... more...

PROEM.    ‘Many speak wisely, some inerrably:Witness the beast who talk’d that should have bray’d,And Caiaphas that saidExpedient ’twas for all that One should die;But what availsWhen Love’s right accent from their wisdom fails,And the Truth-criers know not what they cry!Say, wherefore thou,As under bondage of some bitter vow,Warblest no word,When all the rest are shouting to be heard?Why... more...

THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVEREBUT, knowing now that they would have her speak,She threw her wet hair backward from her brow,Her hand close to her mouth touching her cheek,As though she had had there a shameful blow,And feeling it shameful to feel ought but shameAll through her heart, yet felt her cheek burned so,She must a little touch it; like one lameShe walked away from Gauwaine, with her headStill lifted... more...

HIS DREAM I swayed upon the gaudy stern The butt end of a steering oar, And everywhere that I could turn Men ran upon the shore. And though I would have hushed the crowd There was no mother’s son but said, “What is the figure in a shroud Upon a gaudy bed?” And fishes bubbling to the brim Cried out upon that thing beneath, It had such dignity of limb, By the sweet name of Death. Though I’d my... more...

THE BURIAL OF THE LINNET.Found in the garden—dead in his beauty.Ah! that a linnet should die in the spring!Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,Muffle the dinner-bell, solemnly ring.Bury him kindly—up in the corner;Bird, beast, and gold-fish are sepulchred there;Bid the black kitten march as chief mourner,Waving her tail like a plume in the air.Bury him nobly—next to the donkey;Fetch the old... more...

THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. PART I. At Paris, hard by the Maine barriers,Whoever will choose to repair,Midst a dozen of wooden-legged warriorsMay haply fall in with old Pierre.On the sunshiny bench of a tavernHe sits and he prates of old wars,And moistens his pipe of tobaccoWith a drink that is named after Mars. The beer makes his tongue run the quicker,And as long as his tap never fails,Thus over his... more...