EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS OF PEM BROKE UNDERNEATH this sable hearse Ben Jonson. SONG WHO is the baby, that doth lie It is young Sorrow, laid asleep Let us sing his lullaby, Heigho! a sob and a sigh. What sound is that, so soft, so clear, Bursting, we hear? It is young Sorrow, slumber breaking, Let us sing his lullaby, Heigho a sob and a sigh. Thomas Lovell Beddoes. ANNABEL LEE It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child, and she was a child, But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her high-born kinsmen came from me, And bore her away To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Yes! that was the reason (as all men know In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we, Of many far wiser than we; And neither the angels in heaven above, For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling - my darling bride, - my life and my In her sepulchre there by the sea, Edgar Allan Poe. THE SHEPHERD OF KING ADMETUS THERE came a youth upon the earth, Whose slender hands were nothing worth, Upon an empty tortoise-shell He stretched some chords, and drew Fearless, or brimmed their eyes with dew. Then King Admetus, one who had To hear between the cups of wine: And so, well pleased with being soothed Three times his kingly beard he smoothed, His words were simple words enough, That what in other mouths was rough Men called him but a shiftless youth, They made his careless words their law. They knew not how he learned at all, For idly, hour by hour, He sat and watched the dead leaves fall, Or mused upon a common flower. It seemed the loveliness of things Did teach him all their use, For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs, He found a healing power profuse. Men granted that his speech was wise, But, when a glance they caught Of his slim grace and woman's eyes, They laughed, and called him good-for-nought. Yet after he was dead and gone, And e'en his memory dim, Earth seemed more sweet to live upon, More full of love, because of him. And day by day more holy grew Till after-poets only knew Their first-born brother as a god. James Russell Lowell. THE SISTERS ANNIE and Rhoda, sisters twain, The rush of wind, the ramp and roar Annie rose up in her bed-gown white, "Hush, and hearken!" she cried in fear, "Hearest thou nothing, sister dear?" "I hear the sea, and the plash of rain, And roar of the northeast hurricane. |