Art thou the bird whom Man loves best,
The pious bird with the scarlet breast,

Our little English Robin;
The bird that comes about our doors
When autumn winds are sobbing?
WORDSWORTH–The Redbreast Chasing the

Butterfly.
Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay,

And at my casement sing,
Though it should prove a farewell lay

And this our parting spring.

Bearing His cross, while Christ passed forth for

lorn, His God-like forehead by the mock crown torn, A little bird took from that crown one thorn. To soothe the dear Redeemer's throbbing head, That bird did what she could; His blood, 'tis

said, Down dropping, dyed her tender bosom red. Since then no wanton boy disturbs her nest; Weasel nor wild cat will her young molest; All sacred deem the bird of ruddy breast. HOSKYNS-ABRAHALL—The Redbreast. A Bréton

Legend. In English Lyrics.

10

*

*

*

Then, little Bird, this boon confer,

Come, and my requiem sing,
Nor fail to be the harbinger

Of everlasting spring.
WORDSWORTH-To a Redbreast. In Sickness.

4

On fair Britannia's isle, bright bird,

A legend strange is told of thee, — 'Tis said thy blithesome song was hushed

While Christ toiled up Mount Calvary, Bowed 'neath the sins of all mankind;

And humbled to the very dust By the vile cross, while viler men

Mocked with a crown of thorns the Just. Pierced by our sorrows, and weighed down

By our transgressions,-faint and weak, Crushed by an angry Judge's frown,

And agonies no word can speak, 'Twas then, dear bird, the legend says

That thou, from out His crown, didst tear The thorns, to lighten the distress,

And ease the pain that he must bear, While pendant from thy tiny beak

The gory points thy bosom pressed,
And crimsoned with thy Saviour's blood

The sober brownness of thy breast!
Since which proud hour for thee and thine.

As an especial sign of grace
God pours like sacramental wine

Red signs of favor o'er thy race!
DELLE W. NORTON--To the Robin Redbreast.

Romances paint at full length people's wooings,

But only give a bust of marriages:
For no one cares for matrimonial cooings.

There's nothing wrong in a connubial kiss. Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, He would have written sonnets all bis life?

BYRON-Don Juan. Canto III. St. 8.

13

He loved the twilight that surrounds

The border-land of old romance;

Where glitter hauberk, helm, and lance, And banner waves, and trumpet sounds, And ladies ride with hawk on wrist,

And mighty warriors sweep along, Magnified by the purple mist,

The dusk of centuries and of song. LONGFELLOW-Prelude to Tales of a Wayside

Inn. Pt. V. L. 130.

5

14

The Redbreast, sacred to the household gods,
Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky,
In joyless fields and thorny thickets leaves

Veuve d'un peuple-roi, mais reine encore du monde.

(Rome) Widow of a King-people, but still queen of the world. GABRIEL GILBERT-Papal Rome.

6

17

Rome, Rome, thou art no more

As thou hast been!
On thy seven hills of yore

Thou sat'st a queen.
Mrs. HEMANS -Roman Girl's Song.

7

18 Omitte mirari beatæ Fumum et opes strepitumque Romæ.

Cease to admire the smoke, wealth, and noise of prosperous Rome. HORACE_Carmina. III. 29. 11.

19

When I am at Rome, I fast on a Saturday: when I am at Milan I do not. Do the same. Follow the custom of the church where you are. St. AUGUSTINE gives this as the advice of St.

AMBROSE to him. See Epistle to Januarius.
II. 18. Also Epistle 36.

(See also BURTON, CERVANTES) Now conquering Rome doth conquered Rome

inter, And she the vanquished is, and vanquisher. To show us where she stood there rests alone

Tiber; and that too hastens to be gone. Learn, hence what fortune can. Towns glide

away; And rivers, which are still in motion, stay. JOACHIM DU BELLAY-Antiquitez de Rome.

(Third stanza of this poem taken from JANUS VITALIS.) Trans. by WILLIAM BROWNE, from a Latin version of the same by JANUS VITALIS—In Urbem Romam Qualis est hodie. See GORDON Goodwin's ed. of Poems of WILLIAM BROWNE. Trans.

also by SPENSER, in Complaints. Every one soon or late comes round by Rome. ROBERT BROWNING-Ring and the Book. V. 296.

(See also LA FONTAINE) When they are at Rome, they do there as they see done. BURTON-Anatomy of Melancholy. III. 4. 2.

(See also AUGUSTINE)

a

In tears I tossed my coin from Trevi's edge.

A coin unsordid as a bond of love

And, with the instinct of the homing dove, I gave to Rome my rendezvous and pledge. And when imperious Death

Has quenched my flame of breath, Oh, let me join the faithful shades that throng

that fount above. ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON-Italian Rhap

sody.

8

20

9

Tous chemins vont à Rome; ainsi nos concur

rents Crurent pouvoir choisir des sentiers différents.

All roar's lead to Rome, but our antagonists • think we should choose different paths. LA FONTAINE-Le Juge Arbitre. Fable XII. 28. 4.

(See also BROWNING)

Rome was not built in a day.
Latin in PALINGENIUS. (1537) BEAUMONT

AND FLETCHER--Little French Lawyer. Act
I. Sc. 3. Same idea “No se ganó Zaniora en
una hora.—Zamora was not conquered in an
hour.” CERVANTES—Don Quixote. II. 23.

2

13

O rose, who dares to name thee?

No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet, But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubblewheat.

Kept seven years in a drawer, thy titles shame E. E. BROWNING-A Dead Rose.

'Twas a yellow rose,
By that south window of the little house,
My cousin Romney gathered with his hand
On all my birthdays, for me, save the last;
And then I shook the tree too rough, too rough,
For roses to stay after.

E. B. BROWNING-Aurora Leigh. Bk. VI.
And thus, what can we do,
Poor rose and poet too,
Who both antedate our mission
In an unprepared season?

E. B. BROWNING—A Lay of the Early Rose.

See the wild Waste of all-devouring years! How Rome her own sad Sepulchre appears, With nodding arches, broken temples spread! The very Tombs now vanish'd like their dead!

POPE—Moral Essays. Epistle to Addison. I am in Rome! Oft as the morning ray Visits these eyes, waking at once I cry, Whence this excess of joy? What has befallen me? And from within a thrilling voice replies, Thou art in Rome! A thousand busy thoughts Rush on my mind, a thousand images; And I spring up as girt to run a race!

SAM'L ROGERS-Rome.

3

14

a

15

"For if I wait,” said she, “Till time for roses be, For the moss-rose and the musk-rose, Maiden-blush and royal-dusk rose,

“What glory then for me

In such a company?-
Roses plenty, roses plenty
And one nightingale for twenty?”

E. B. BROWNING—A Lay of the Early Rose.

16

Red as a rose of Harpocrate.
E. B. BROWNING-Isobel's Child.

(See also BURMANN under SECRECY)

17

6

You smell a rose through a fence:
If two should smell it, what matter?

E. B. BROWNING—Lord Walter's Wife.
A white rosebud for a guerdon.

E. B. BROWNING—Romance of the Swan's Nest.

18

ROSE

Rosa
She wore a wreath of roses,

The night that first we met.
Thos. HAYNES BAYLY—She Wore a Wreath of

Roses.
7
The rose that all are praising

Is not the rose for me.
Thos. HAYNES BAYLY—The Rose That all are

Praising.

a

19

All June I bound the rose in sheaves,
Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.

Ι
ROBERT BROWNING- One Way of Love.

20

8

Go pretty rose, go to my fair,
Go tell her all I fain would dare,
Tell her of hope; tell her of spring,
Tell her of all I fain would sing,
Oh! were I like thee, so fair a thing.

MIKE BEVERLY-Go Pretty Rose.

Loveliest of lovely things are they
On earth that soonest pass away.
The rose that lives its little hour
Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.

BRYANT-A Scene on the Banks of the Hudson.

21 I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phæbus peeps in

view, For its like a baumy kiss o'er her sweet bonnie

mou'! BURNS—The Posie.

22

10

The full-blown rose, mid dewy sweets

Most perfect dies.
MARIA BROOKS—Written on Seeing Phara-

mond.

Yon rose-buds in the morning dew,

How pure amang the leaves sae green!
BURNS-To Chloris.

23
When love came first to earth, the Spring
Spread rose-beds to receive him.
CAMPBELL-Song. When Love Came First to

Earth.
24
Roses were sette of swete savour,
With many roses that thei bere.

CHAUCER—The Romaunt of the Rose.

11

This guelder rose, at far too slight a beck
Of the wind, will toss about her flower-apples.

E. B. BROWNING—Aurora Leigh. Bk. II.

I did not pray Him to lay bare

The mystery to me,
Enough the rose was Heaven to smell,

And His own face to see.
RALPH HODGSON—The Mystery.

14
It was not in the winter

Our loving lot was cast: It was the time of roses

We pluck'd them as we pass'd. HOODBallad. It was not in the Winter.

5

15

It never will rain roses: when we want
To have more roses we must plant more trees.
GEORGE ELIOT—Spanish Gypsy. Bk. III.

(See also LOVEMAN under RAIN) Oh, raise your deep-fringed lids that close

To wrap you in some sweet dream's thrall;
I am the spectre of the rose

You wore but last night at the ball.
GAUTIER-Spectre of the Rose. (From the

French.) See WERNER's Readings No. 8.
7
In Heaven's happy bowers
There blossom two flowers,
One with fiery glow
And one as wbite as snow;
While lo! before them stands,
With pale and trembling hands,
A spirit whọ must choose
One, and one refuse.

R. W. GILDER—The White and Red Rose.

8

19

But the rose leaves herself upon the brier, For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed.

KEATS- On Fame.

20

Pflücke Rosen, weil sie blühn,

Morgen ist nicht heut!
Keine Stunde lass entfliehn.

Morgen ist nicht heut.
Gather roses while they bloom,

To-morrow is yet far away.
Moments lost have no room

In to-morrow or to-day. GLEIM-Benutzung der Zeit.

(See also HERRICK Under TIME)

Woo on, with odour wooing me,

Faint rose with fading core;
For God's rose-thought, that blooms in thee,

Will bloom forevermore.
GEORGE MacDONALD Songs of the Summer

Night. Pt. III. 21 Mais elle étai mond, où les plus belles choses

Ont le pire destin;
Et Rose, elle a vécu ce que vivent les roses,

L'espace d'un matin.

It is written on the rose

In its glory's full array:
Read what those buds disclose

“Passing away."
FELICIA D. ŠEMANS—Passing Away.