JOSEPH HOPKINSON, 1770-1842.

Hail, Columbia! happy land!
Hail, ye heroes! heaven-born band!
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,
And when the storm of war was gone,
Enjoyed the peace your valor won.
Let independence be our boast,
Ever mindful what it cost;
Ever grateful for the prize,
Let its altar reach the skies!

Hail, Columbia!

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.1 1770-1850.

Oh, be wiser thou!

Instructed that true knowledge leads to love.

Lines left upon a Seat in a Yew-tree.

And homeless near a thousand homes I stood,
And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.

Guilt and Sorrow. Stanza 41,

Action is transitory,

a step, a blow ;

The motion of a muscle, this way or that.

The Borderers. Act iii.

Three sleepless nights I passed in sounding on,
Through words and things, a dim and perilous way.

2

Act iv. Sc. 2.

1 Coleridge said to Wordsworth ("Memoirs" by his nephew, vol. ii. p. 74), "Since Milton, I know of no poet with so many felicities and unforgettable lines and stanzas as you."

2 The intellectual power, through words and things,
Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!

The Excursion, book iii.

A simple child

That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

O Reader! had you in your mind

Such stores as silent thought can bring,
O gentle Reader! you would find
A tale in everything.

I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning;

Alas! the gratitude of men

Hath oftener left me mourning.

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

We are Seven

Simon Leo

Ibid.

Lines written in Early Spring.

And 't is my faith, that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

Nor less I deem that there are Powers
Which of themselves our minds impress;
That we can feed this mind of ours
In a wise passiveness.

Ibid.

Expostulation and Reply.

Up! up! my friend, and quit your books,
Or surely you'll grow double!

Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks!
Why all this toil and trouble?

Come forth into the light of things,

Let Nature be your teacher.

One impulse from a vernal wood

May teach you more of man,

The Tables Turned.

Ibid

Of moral evil and of good,

Than all the sages can.

The bane of all that dread the Devil.

Ibid.

The Idiot Boy

Sensations sweet,

Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.

Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey.

That best portion of a good man's life, —
His little, nameless, unremembered acts
Of kindness and of love.

That blessed mood,

In which the burden of the mystery,

In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,

Is lightened.

Ibid.

·Ibid.

The fretful stir

Ibid.

Unprofitable, and the fever of the world
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.

The sounding cataract

Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite, a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm
By thoughts supplied, nor any interest

Unborrowed from the eye.

But hearing oftentimes

The still, sad music of humanity.

A sense sublime

Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man,
A motion and a spirit, that impels

All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things.

Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life.

Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey

Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel
No self-reproach.

The Old Cumberland Beggar.

The original edition (London, 1819, 8vo) had the following as the fourth stanza from the end of Part i., which was omitted in all subsequent editions:

Is it a party in a parlour?

Crammed just as they on earth were crammed, —

Some sipping punch, some sipping tea,

But, as you by their faces see,

Ail silent and all damned.

One of those heavenly days that cannot die.

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,

A maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love.

A violet by a mossy stone

Half hidden from the eye; Fair as a star, when only one

Is shining in the sky.

Nutting.

She dwelt among the untrodden ways.

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and oh

The difference to me!

The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear

In many a secret place

Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound

Shall

pass into her face.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Three years she grew in Sun and Shower.

May no rude hand deface it,
And its forlorn hic jacet!

She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;
And humble cares, and delicate fears;
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;
And love and thought and joy.

The child is father of the man.1

The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;

Ellen Irwin,

The Sparrow's Nest.

My heart leaps up when I behold.

There are forty feeding like one!

1 See Milton, page 241.

The Cock is crowing,