Much have I travelled in the realms of gold, ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET† The poetry of earth is never dead: And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead; That is the Grasshopper's-he takes the lead The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, *This sonnet of discovery was written after Keats had spent a night with a friend reading in Chapman's translation (Eng. Lit., p. 97). Keats could not read Greek, but had to con. tent himself mainly with "western islands" of poetry and romance. It should be noted that it was not Cortez, but Balboa, who discovered the Pacific. Written in a friendly competition with Leigh Hunt. See Hunt's sonnet, p. 496. ON SEEING THE ELGIN MARBLES‡ My spirit is too weak-mortality Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep, And each imagined pinnacle and steep Of godlike` hardship tells me I must die Like a sick Eagle looking at the sky. Yet 'tis a gentle luxury to weep That I have not the cloudy winds to keep, Fresh for the opening of the morning's eye. Such dim-conceived glories of the brain Bring round the heart an undescribable feud; So do these wonders a most dizzy pain, That mingles Grecian grandeur with the rude Wasting of old Time-with a billowy main— A sun-a shadow of a magnitude. ON THE SEA It keeps eternal whisperings around Often 'tis in such gentle temper found, When last the winds of heaven were unbound. Oh ye! who have your eye-balls vexed and tired, Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea; Or fed too much with cloying melody- WHEN I HAVE FEARS THAT I MAY When I have fears that I may cease to be 1 The moon. BRIGHT STAR! WOULD I WERE STED- | And then the old man shook his head, Bright star! would I were stedfast as thou Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, LATE GEORGIAN BALLADS AND LYRICS† ROBERT SOUTHEY (1774-1843) THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM‡ It was a summer evening; Old Kaspar's work was done, Was sitting in the sun; She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, Which he beside the rivulet In playing there had found. He came to ask what he had found, Old Kaspar took it from the boy, And with a natural sigh, ""Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory. "I find them in the garden, For there's many here about; The ploughshare turns them out; "Now tell us what 'twas all about," Young Peterkin, he cries; "It was the English," Kaspar cried, 18 24 30 36 For many thousand bodies here But things like that, you know, must be This sonnet was composed on the Dorsetshire "Great praise the Duke of Marlboro' won, and their German allies, under the Duke of loss. And everybody praised the Duke 54 60 HOHENLINDEN† On Linden, when the sun was low, But Linden saw another sight, By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, Then shook the hills with thunder riven, But redder yet that light shall glow 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun The combat deepens. On, ye brave, CHARLES WOLFE (1791-1823) 16 24 32 THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE‡ Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. At the Bavarian village of Hohenlinden, not far from Munich, the Austrian army (referred to in this poem as the "Hun") was defeated by the French (the "Frank") in December, 1800. Campbell did not witness the battle, as a pleasing tradition relates, but he was on the continent at the time and witnessed at least one skirmish. Scott greatly admired this ballad, though the author himself spoke somewhat contemptuously of its "drum and trumpet lines." Sir John Moore, a British general, was killed at Corunna in January, 1809, just as the British troops, retreating from the French, were about to embark, though he lived long enough to hear that the French were beaten back. was buried at night in the citadel. He We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, But half of our weary task was done When the clock struck the note for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun Of the enemy sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory. THOMAS MOORE (1779-1852) 32 THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLSS The harp that once through Tara's halls Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts that once beat high for praise Now feel that pulse no more! No more to chiefs and ladies bright The harp of Tara swells; The chord alone that breaks at night Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, Is when some heart indignant breaks, 8 THE MINSTREL BOY The Minstrel-boy to the war is gone, And his wild harp slung behind him."Land of song!" said the warrior-bard, "Though all the world betrays thee, One sword at least thy rights shall guard, One faithful harp shall praise thee!'' The Minstrel fell!-but the foeman's chain Thy songs were made for the brave and free, They shall never sound in slavery!'' OFT, IN THE STILLY NIGHT Oft, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken! Thus, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. When I remember all The friends, so linked together, I've seen around me fall, Like leaves in wintry weather; Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, And all but he departed! Thus, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light CHARLES LAMB (1775-1834 THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES 16 I have had playmates, I have had companions, In my days of childhood, in my joyful schooldays Tara Hill, some twenty miles from Dublin, is said to have been the seat of the ancient Ali, all are gone, the old familiar faces. kings of Ireland. |