ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER.

Much have I traveled in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.

Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne: Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold.

Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific--and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise-- Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

JOHN KEATS.

ULYSSES.

It little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race, That h.o.a.rd, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: all times have I enjoyed Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone; on sh.o.r.e, and when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea: I am become a name; For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known; cities of men And manners, climates, councils, governments, Myself not least, but honored of them all; And drunk delight of battle with my peers, Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.

I am a part of all that I have met; Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'

Gleams that untraveled world, whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move.

How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!

As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life Were all too little, and of one to me Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence, something more, A bringer of new things; and vile it were For some three suns to store and h.o.a.rd myself, And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus, To whom I leave the scepter and the isle-- Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill This labor, by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good.

Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere Of common duties, decent not to fail In offices of tenderness, and pay Meet adoration to my household G.o.ds, When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port: the vessel puffs her sail: There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners, Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me-- That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed Free hearts, free foreheads--you and I are old; Old age hath yet his honor and his toil; Death closes all: but something ere the end, Some work of n.o.ble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with G.o.ds.

The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die.

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.

Tho' much is taken, much abides: and tho'

We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are; One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

[Ill.u.s.tration: DEATH OF CaeSAR.]

ANTONY'S EULOGY ON CaeSAR.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Caesar. The n.o.ble Brutus Hath told you Caesar was ambitious: If it were so, it were a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answered it.

Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest-- For Brutus is an honorable man; So are they all, all honorable men-- Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.

He was my friend, faithful and just to me: But Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honorable man.

He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?

When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honorable man.

You all did see that on the Lupercal I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And, sure, he is an honorable man.

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know.

You all did love him once, not without cause: What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?

O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason. Bear with me: My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me.

But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world; now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence.

O masters, if I were disposed to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, I should do Brutus wrong, and Ca.s.sius wrong, Who, you all know, are honorable men: I will not do them wrong; I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, Than I will wrong such honorable men.

But here's a parchment with the seal of Caesar; I found it in his closet, 'tis his will: Let but the commons hear this testament-- Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read-- And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds And dip their napkins in his sacred blood, Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it as a rich legacy Unto their issue.

Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it; It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you.

You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, It will inflame you, it will make you mad: Tis good you know not that you are his heirs; For, if you should, O, what would come of it!

Will you be patient? will you stay awhile?

I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it: I fear I wrong the honorable men Whose daggers have stabbed Caesar; I do fear it.

You will compel me, then, to read the will?

Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, And let me show you him that made the will.

Shall I descend? and will you give me leave?

Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off.

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.

You all do know this mantle: I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, That day he overcame the Nervii: Look, in this place ran Ca.s.sius' dagger through: See what a rent the envious Casca made: Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabbed; And as he plucked his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it, As rushing out of doors, to be resolved If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no; For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel: Judge, O you G.o.ds, how dearly Caesar loved him!

This was the most unkindest cut of all: For when the n.o.ble Caesar saw him stab, Ingrat.i.tude, more strong than traitors' arms, Quite vanquished him: then burst his mighty heart; And, in his mantle m.u.f.fling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's statua, Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell.

O, what a fall was there, my countrymen!

Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst b.l.o.o.d.y treason flourished over us.

O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel The dint of pity: these are gracious drops.

Kind souls, what, weep you when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here, Here is himself, marred, as you see, with traitors.

Stay, countrymen.

Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny.

They that have done this deed are honorable: What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, That made them do it: they are wise and honorable, And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.

I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts: I am no orator, as Brutus is; But, as you know me, a plain blunt man, That love my friend; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him: For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on: I tell you that which you yourselves do know: Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me: but were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.