His frisking was at evening hours, But most before approaching showers, Eight years and five round-rolling moons And every night at play. I kept him for his humours' sake, My heart of thoughts that made it ache, But now, beneath this walnut shade, She, still more aged, feels the shocks W. Cowper XIV ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase) An angel writing in a book of gold :— 'What writest thou?'-The vision raised its head, The angel wrote and vanished. The next night Leigh Hunt XV LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCY Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, The sedge is wither'd from the lake, Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done. I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; Fast withereth too. I met a Lady in the meads, Full beautiful, a fairy's child; I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long ; For sideways would she lean and sing A fairy's song. I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She look'd at me as she did love, And made sweet moan. She found me roots of relish sweet, She took me to her elfin grot, And there she gazed and sighed deep, And there I shut her wild sad eyes, So kissed to sleep. And there we slumber'd on the moss, I saw pale kings, and princes too, I saw their starved lips in the gloom And this is why I sojourn here Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, J. Keats XVI WINTER When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the Shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail ; When all around the wind doth blow, And birds sit brooding in the snow And Marian's nose looks red and raw When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl Tuwhoo! Tuwhit! tuwhoo! A merry note While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. W. Shakespeare XVII THE INCHCAPE ROCK No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, Without either sign or sound of their shock The good old Abbot of Aberbrothok Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock; On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, And over the waves its warning rung. When the Rock was hid by the surges' swell, The sun in heaven was shining gay, All things were joyful on that day; The sea-birds scream'd as they wheel'd round, And there was joyance in their sound. The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen |