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"Fill the can, and fill the cup:
"Trooping from their mouldy dens The chap-fallen circle spreads: Welcome, fellow-citizens,
Hollow hearts and empty heads!
"You are bones, and what of that?
"Death is king, and Vivat Rex!
Tread a measure on the stones, Madam-if I know your sex,
From the fashion of your bones.
"No, I cannot praise the fire
In your eye-nor yet your lip: All the more do I admire
Joints of cunning workmanship.
"Lo! God's likeness—the ground-plan-
"Drink to Fortune, drink to Chance, While we keep a little breath! Drink to heavy Ignorance!
Hob-and-nob with brother Death!
"Thou art mazed, the night is long,
"Youthful hopes, by scores, to all,
"Fill the cup, and fill the can!
Mingle madness, mingle scorn!
Yet we will not die forlorn."
The voice grew faint: there came a further change;
A little grain of conscience made him sour."
SURE never yet was Antelope
How lightly whirls the skipping-rope !
Go, get you gone, you muse and mope
Nay, dearest, teach me how to hope,
There, take it, take my skipping-rope
MOVE EASTWARD, HAPPY EARTH, AND
MOVE eastward, happy earth, and leave
O, happy planet, eastward go;
Thy silver sister-world, and rise
Ah, bear me with thee, smoothly borné,
BREAK, BREAK, BREAK.
BREAK, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, oh Sea!
O well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
That he sings in his boat on the bay!
And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But oh for the touch of a vanished hand,
Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, oh Sea!
THE POET'S SONG.
THE rain had fallen, the Poet arose,
He passed by the town, and out of the street, A light wind blew from the gates of the sun,
And waves of shadow went over the wheat, And he sat him down in a lonely place,
And chanted a melody loud and sweet, That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud, And the lark drop down at his feet.
The swallow stopt as he hunted the bee,
The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak
But never a one so gay,
For he sings of what the world will be
THE PRINCESS; A MEDLEY.
SIR WALTER VIVIAN all a summer's day
Up to the people: thither flocked at noon
The neighboring borough with their Institute,
And me that morning Walter showed the house, Greek, set with busts: from vases in the hall Flowers of all heavens, and lovelier than their
Grew side by side; and on the pavement lay
And "this," he said, "was Hugh's at Agincourt; And that was old Sir Ralph's at Ascalon : A good knight he! we keep a chronicle With all about him," which he brought, and I Dived in a hoard of tales that dealt with knights Half-legend, half-historic, counts and kings Who laid about them at their wills and died; And mixt with these, a lady, one that armed Her own fair head, and sallying through the gate, Had beat her foes with slaughter from her walls.
"O miracle of women," said the book, "O noble heart who, being strait-besieged By this wild king to force her to his wish, Nor bent, nor broke, nor shunned a soldier's death, But now when all was lost or seemed as lostHer stature more than mortal in the burst Of sunrise, her arm lifted, eyes on fire