The Hundred Best English Poems Part 6

When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallow'd mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall a while repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there.

_1822 Edition._

WILLIAM COWPER.

24. _To a Young Lady._

Sweet stream that winds through yonder glade, Apt emblem of a virtuous maid-- Silent and chaste she steals along, Far from the world's gay busy throng, With gentle, yet prevailing, force, Intent upon her destin'd course; Graceful and useful all she does, Blessing and blest where'er she goes, Pure-bosom'd as that wat'ry gla.s.s, And heav'n reflected in her face.

_1813 Edition._

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

25. _A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea._

A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast; And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good s.h.i.+p flies, and leaves Old England on the lee.

O for a soft and gentle wind!

I heard a fair one cry; But give to me the snoring breeze, And white waves heaving high; And white waves heaving high, my boys, The good s.h.i.+p tight and free-- The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon horned moon, And lightning in yon cloud; And hark the music, mariners!

The wind is piping loud; The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flas.h.i.+ng free-- While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea.

_1847 Edition._

SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT.

26. _Song._

The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest, And, climbing, shakes his dewy wings; He takes this window for the east; And to implore your light, he sings: "Awake, awake! the morn will never rise, Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.

"The merchant bows unto the seaman's star, The ploughman from the sun his season takes; But still the lover wonders what they are, Who look for day before his mistress wakes.

Awake, awake! break thro' your veils of lawn!

Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn."

_1810 Edition._

JOHN DRYDEN.

27. _A Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687._

I.

From harmony, from heav'nly harmony This universal frame began: When nature underneath a heap Of jarring atoms lay, And cou'd not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high, Arise, ye more than dead.

Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, In order to their stations leap, And Music's power obey.

From harmony, from heavenly harmony This universal frame began: From harmony to harmony Through all the compa.s.s of the notes it ran, The diapason closing full in Man.

II.

What pa.s.sion cannot Music raise and quell!

When Jubal struck the corded sh.e.l.l, His list'ning brethren stood around, And, wond'ring, on their faces fell To wors.h.i.+p that celestial sound.

Less than a G.o.d they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that sh.e.l.l, That spoke so sweetly and so well.

What pa.s.sion cannot Music raise and quell!

III.

The trumpet's loud clangour Excites us to arms, With shrill notes of anger And mortal alarms.

The double double double beat Of the thund'ring drum Cries, Hark! the foes come; Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat.

IV.

The soft complaining flute In dying notes discovers The woes of hopeless lovers, Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute.

V.

Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs, and desperation, Fury, frantic indignation, Depth of pains, and height of pa.s.sion, For the fair, disdainful dame.

VI.

But oh! what art can teach, What human voice can reach, The sacred organ's praise?

Notes inspiring holy love, Notes that wing their heavenly ways To mend the choirs above.

VII.