Swift to the breach his comrades fly, "Make way for liberty!" they cry, And through the Austrian phalanx dart, As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart.

While instantaneous as his fall, Rout, ruin, panic, seized them all; An earthquake could not overthrow A city with a surer blow.

Thus Switzerland again was free; Thus Death made way for Liberty!

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

LIFE, I KNOW NOT WHAT THOU ART.

Life! I know not what thou art.

But know that thou and I must part; And when, or how, or where we met, I own to me's a secret yet.

Life! we've been long together Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; Tis hard to part when friends are dear-- Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; --Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time; Say not Good Night,--but in some brighter clime Bid me Good Morning.

A.L. BARBAULD.

MERCY.

"Mercy," an excerpt from "The Merchant of Venice," "Polonius' Advice,"

from "Hamlet," and "Antony's Speech," from "Julius Caesar" (all fragments from Shakespeare, 1564-1616), find a place in this book because a well-known New York teacher--one who is unremitting in his efforts to raise the good taste and character of his pupils--says: "A book of poetry could not be complete without these extracts."

The quality of mercy is not strain'd; It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless'd; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown: His scepter shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above his sceptered sway; It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to G.o.d himself; And earthly power doth then show likest G.o.d's When mercy seasons justice.

SHAKESPEARE ("Merchant of Venice").

POLONIUS' ADVICE.

See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.

Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar: The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in, Bear 't that th' opposed may beware of thee.

Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice: Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.

Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy: For the apparel oft proclaims the man.

Neither a borrower nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.

This above all: to thine own self be true; And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.

SHAKESPEARE ("Hamlet").

A FRAGMENT FROM MARK ANTONY'S SPEECH.

This was the n.o.blest Roman of them all: All the conspirators, save only he, Did that they did in envy of great Caesar; He only, in a general honest thought And common good to all, made one of them.

His life was gentle; and the elements So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up, And say to all the world, "This was a man!"

SHAKESPEARE ("Julius Caesar").

THE SKYLARK.

Bird of the wilderness, Blithesome and c.u.mberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!

Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place-- Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay and loud, Far in the downy cloud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.

Where, on thy dewy wing, Where art thou journeying?

Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the cloudlet dim, Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!

Then, when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!

Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place-- Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!

THOMAS HOGG.

THE CHOIR INVISIBLE.

"The Choir Invisible" (by George Eliot, 1819-80) is a fitting exposition in poetry of this "Shakespeare of prose."

O, may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence; live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rect.i.tude, in scorn Of miserable aims that end with self, In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, And with their mild persistence urge men's minds To vaster issues.

May I reach That purest heaven,--be to other souls The cup of strength in some great agony, Enkindle generous ardour, feed pure love, Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, Be the sweet presence of good diffused, And in diffusion ever more intense!

So shall I join the choir invisible, Whose music is the gladness of the world.

GEORGE ELIOT.

THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US.

"The World Is Too Much With Us," by Wordsworth (1770-1850), is perhaps the greatest sonnet ever written. It is true that "the eyes of the soul" are blinded by a surfeit of worldly "goods." "I went to the Lake District" (England), said John Burroughs, "to see what kind of a country could produce a Wordsworth." Of course he found simple houses, simple people, barren moors, heather-clad mountains, wild flowers, calm lakes, plain, rugged simplicity.

The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; Little we see in Nature that is ours.

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This sea, that bares her bosom to the moon, The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers-- For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not. Great G.o.d! I'd rather be A pagan, suckled in a creed outworn, So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus, rising from the sea, Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

ON HIS BLINDNESS.

"Sonnet on His Blindness" (by John Milton, 1608-74). This is the most stately and pathetic sonnet in existence. The soul enduring enforced idleness and loss of power without repining. Inactivity made to serve a higher end.

"All service ranks the same with G.o.d!

There is no first or last."

When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide, Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He, returning, chide; Doth G.o.d exact day-labour, light denied?

I fondly ask: but Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, G.o.d doth not need Either man's work, or His own gifts; who best Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best; His state Is kingly; thousands at His bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait.

JOHN MILTON.