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From L. L. L.

WHEN icicles hang by the wall,

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,

To-who!-a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.


When all aloud the wind doth blow,

And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,

To-who!-a merry note,

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 1598.

William Shakespeare.



STEER, hither steer your winged pines,

All beaten mariners !
Here lie Love's undiscover'd mines,

A prey to passengers-
Perfumes far sweeter than the best
Which make the Phoenix' urn and nest.

Fear not your ships,
Nor any to oppose you save our lips;

But come on shore,
Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more.


For swelling waves our panting breasts,

Where never storms arise,
Exchange, and be awhile our guests:

For stars gaze on our eyes.
The compass Love shall hourly sing,
And as he goes about the ring,

We will not miss
To tell each point he nameth with a kiss.

-Then come on shore,
Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more.
1614. 1772.

William Browne, of Tavistock.




PHEBUS, arise ! And paint the sable skies With azure, white, and red; Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed, That she thy career may with roses spread; The nightingales thy coming each-where sing; Make an eternal spring! Give life to this dark world which lieth dead; Spread forth thy golden hair In larger locks than thou wast wont before, And emperor-like decore With diadem of pearl thy temples fair : Chase hence the ugly night, Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light. This is that happy morn, That day, long wished day Of all my life so dark (If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn And fates not hope betray), Which only white deserves A diamond for ever should it mark: This is the morn should bring unto this grove My Love, to hear and recompense my love. Fair King, who all preserves,




But show thy blushing beams,
And thou two sweeter eyes
Shalt see than those which by Peneus' streams:
Did once thy heart surprise:
Nay, suns, which shine as clear
As thou when two thou did to Rome appear.
Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise :
If that ye, winds, would hear
A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre,
Your stormy chiding stay ;
Let zephyr only breathe
And with her tresses play,.
Kissing sometimes these purple ports of death.
The winds all silent are;
And Phæbus in his chair
Ensaffroning sea and air
Makes vanish every star:
Night like a drunkard reels
Beyond the hills to shun his flaming wheels:
The fields with flowers are deck'd in every hue,
The clouds bespangle with bright gold their blue:
Here is the pleasant place-
And everything, save Her, who all should grace.

William Drummond.



From Comus
Sweet Echo, sweetest Nymph that liv'st

Within thy airy shell
By slow Meander's margent green,

And in the violet imbroider'd vale

Where the love-lorn Nightingale Nightly to thee her sad Song mourneth well: Canst thou not tell me of a gentle Pair

That likest thy Narcissus are?

O if thou have
Hid them in som flowry Cave,

Tell me but where,
Sweet Queen of Parley, Daughter of the

So may'st thou be translated to the skies,
And give resounding grace to all Heav'n's

Harmonies ! 1634.

John Milton.



From Comus


Listen where thou art sitting
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave

In twisted braids of lilies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping


Listen for dear honour's sake,
Goddess of the silver lake,

Listen and save!


Listen and appear to us,
In name of great Oceanus,
By the earth-shaking Neptune's mace,
And Tethys' grave majestic pace,

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