220 ODE TO DUTY. And oft, when in my heart was heard The task, in smoother walks to stray; Through no disturbance of my soul, Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear Flowers laugh before thee on their beds ; And Fragrance in thy footing treads; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; may. And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong. To humbler functions, awful Power! And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live! FAMILIAR LOVE. - Milnes. WE read together, reading the same book, In its half slumbering harmony, More like a bee, that in the noon rejoices, In which our powers of thought stood separate DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. — Shirley. THE glories of our birth and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armor against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings. 022 THE WIDOW TO HER HOUR-GLASS. Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor, crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, The garlands wither on your brow; Then boast no more your mighty deeds; See where the victor victim bleeds; To the cold tomb, Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust. THE WIDOW TO HER HOUR-GLASS. - Bloomfield. COME, friend, I'll turn thee up again; Spring thirty times hath fed with rain In frame of wood, On chest or window by my side; At every birth still thou wert near, And when my husband died. I've often watched thy streaming sand, On Still sliding down, Again heaped up, then down again; While thus I spin and sometimes sing, Still shalt thou flow, And jog along thy destined way; Steady as truth, on either end Thy lengthened day Shall gild once more my native plain; Curl inward here, sweet woodbine-flower; Companion of the lonely hour, I'll turn thee up again. 224 THE MEN OF OLD. HYMN TO DIANA. -Jonson, born in 1574. QUEENE, and huntresse, chaste, and faire, Seated, in thy silver chaire, State in wonted manner keepe : Hesperus intreats thy light, Earth, let not thy impious shade Cynthia's shining orbe was made Lay thy bow of pearle apart, And thy cristall-shining quiver; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever : THE MEN OF OLD.- Milnes. I KNOW not that the men of old Of heart more kind, of hand more bold, I heed not those who pine perforce A ghost of Time to raise, As if they could check the course |