Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet!

Nothing comes to thee new or strange.
Sleep full of rest from head to feet;

Lie still, dry dust, secure of change. To J. S. More black than ash-buds in the front of March.

The Gardener's Daughter.
Of love that never found his earthly close,
What sequel ? Streaming eyes and breaking hearts ;
Or all the same as if he had not been ? Love and Duty.

The long mechanic pacings to and fro,
The set, gray life, and apathetic end.

Ibid.
Ah, when shall all men's good
Be each man's rule, and universal peace
Lie like a shaft of light across the land,
And like a lane of beams athwart the sea,
Thro' all the circle of the golden year?

The Golden Year.
I am a part of all that I have met."

Ulysses.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use,
As tho' to breathe were life !

Ibid.
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles whom we knew. Ibid.

Here at the quiet limit of the world. Tithonus. In the spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

Locksley Hall. Line 19. Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass’d in music

Line 33.

dove;

chords with might;

out of sight.

1 See Byron, page 543.

Line 75.

Line 94.

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent

its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.

Locksley Hill. Line 49. This is truth the poet sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier

things. Like a dog, he hunts in dreams.

Line 79 With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daugh.

ter's heart. But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that

Honour feels. Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.

Line 117. Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing pur

pose runs, And the thoughts of men are widend with the process

of the suns. Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers. I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky

Line 105.

Line 137

Line 141.

Line 168.

race.

I, the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.

Line 178.

Line 182.

Let the great world spin forever down the ringing

grooves of change. Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.

Line 184

I waited for the train at Coventry;
I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge,
To watch the three tall spires; and there I shaped
The city's ancient legend into this.

Goding

i See Longfellow, page 618.

And on her lover's arm she leant,

And round her waist she felt it fold,
And far across the hills they went
In that new world which is the old.

The Day-Drram. The D«pirture, å
And o'er the hills, and far away

Beyond their utmost purple rim,
Beyond the night, across the day,
Thro' all the world she follow'd him.

Ibid. ic.
We are ancients of the earth,
And in the morning of the times.

L'Enroi.
As she fled fast through sun and shade
The happy winds upon her play'd,
Blowing the ringlet from the braid.

Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere.
For now the poet cannot die,

Nor leave his music as of old,

But round him ere he scarce be cold
Begins the scandal and the cry.

-, after reading a Life and Letters.
But oh for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still !

Break, break, break.
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.

Ibid,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

The Brook.
Mastering the lawless science of our law, -
That codeless myriad of precedent,
That wilderness of single instances. Aylmer's Field.

Rich in saving common-sense,
And, as the greatest only are,
In his simplicity sublime.

Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington. Stanza 4. Oh good gray head which all men knew!

Ibid.

To

That tower of strength
Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.

Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington. Stanzı 4.
For this is England's greatest son,
He that gain'd a hundred fights,

And never lost an English gun. Stanza 6
Not once or twice in our rough-island story
The path of duty was the way to glory.

Stanza 3.
All in the valley of death
Rode the six hundred.

The Charge of the Light Brigade. Stanza 1.
. Some one had blunder'd :
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.

Stana 2.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them.

Into the jaws of death,
Into the mouth of hell

Rode the six hundred.
That a lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of

Stanza 3.

lies;

That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought

with outright; But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.

The Grandmother. Stanza 8.
O Love! what hours were thine and mine,
In lands of palm and southern pine;

In lands of palm, of orange-blossom,
Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine !

The Daisy. Stanza 1 Jaws of death. - SHAKESPEARE: Twelfth Night, act iii. sc. 4. DO Bartas: Weekes and Workes, day i. part 4.

So dear a life your arms enfold,
Whose crying is a cry for gold.

The Daisy. Stanza 24.
Read my little fable :

He that runs may read.'
Most can raise the flowers now,

For all have got the seed. The Flower.
In that fierce light which beats upon a throne.

Idylls of the King. Dedication.
It is the little rift within the lute
That by and by will make the music mute,
And ever widening slowly silence all.

Ibid. Merlin and Vivien.
His honour rooted in dishonour stood,
And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.

Ibid. Launcelot and Elaine.
The old order changeth, yielding place to new;
And God fulfils himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

The Passing of Arthur.
I am going a long way
if indeed I

go
(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) —
To the island-valley of Avilion,
Where falls not hail or rain or any snow,
Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns
And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea,
Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.

Ibid.
With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans,
And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair.

The Princess. Prologue. Line 141. A rosebud set with little wilful thorns, And sweet as English air could make her, she.

With these thou seëst

Part i. Line 153

1 See Cowper, page 422.