I fear no foe with Thee at hand to bless: Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.

Where is Death's sting? where, Grave, thy victory?

--I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes; Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies: Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee:-- In life and death, O Lord, abide with me!

HENRY F. LYTE.

SONG FROM "PIPPA Pa.s.sES."

The year's at the spring, And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hillside's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn; G.o.d's in His heaven-- All's right with the world.

ROBERT BROWNING.

MAN AND NATURE.

A sad man on a summer day Did look upon the earth and say-- "Purple cloud, the hilltop binding, Folded hills, the valleys wind in, Valleys, with fresh streams among you, Streams, with bosky trees along you, Trees, with many birds and blossoms, Birds, with music-trembling bosoms, Blossoms, dropping dews that wreathe you To your fellow flowers beneath you, Flowers, that constellate on earth, Earth, that shakest to the mirth Of the merry t.i.tan ocean, All his shining hair in motion!

Why am I thus the only one Who can be dark beneath the sun?"

But when the summer day was past, He looked to heaven and smiled at last, Self-answered so-- "Because, O cloud, Pressing with thy crumpled shroud Heavily on mountain top,-- Hills, that almost seem to drop, Stricken with a misty death, To the valleys underneath,-- Valleys, sighing with the torrent,-- Waters, streaked with branches horrent,-- Branchless trees, that shake your head Wildly o'er your blossoms spread Where the common flowers are found,-- Flowers, with foreheads to the ground,-- Ground, that shriekest while the sea With his iron smiteth thee-- I am, besides, the only one Who can be bright _without_ the sun."

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

MORNING.

Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day, With night we banish sorrow, Sweet air blow soft, mount lark aloft To give my Love good morrow.

Wings from the wind, to please her mind, Notes from the lark I'll borrow; Bird prune thy wing, nightingale sing, To give my Love good morrow; To give my Love good morrow Notes from them all I'll borrow.

Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast, Sing birds in every furrow, And from each hill, let music shrill, Give my fair Love good morrow: Blackbird and thrush, in every bush, Stare, linnet, and c.o.c.k sparrow!

You pretty elves, amongst yourselves Sing my fair Love good morrow.

To give my Love good morrow Sing birds in every furrow.

THOMAS HEYWOOD.

THE LADY OF SHALOTT.

PART I.

On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-towered Camelot; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below, The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs forever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot.

Four gray walls, and four gray towers, Overlook a s.p.a.ce of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow-veiled, Slide the heavy barges trailed By slow horses; and unhailed The shallop flitteth silken-sailed, Skimming down to Camelot: But who hath seen her wave her hand?

Or at the cas.e.m.e.nt seen her stand?

Or is she known in all the land, The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to towered Camelot: And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott."

PART II.

There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colors gay.

She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.

And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear.

There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot; There the river eddy whirls, And there the surly village churls, And the red cloaks of market-girls, Pa.s.s onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, Or long-haired page in crimson clad, Goes by to towered Camelot; And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two; She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights, And music, went to Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed; "I am half sick of shadows," said The Lady of Shalott.

PART III.

A bowshot from her bower eaves, He rode between the barley sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot.

A red-cross knight for ever kneeled To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glittered free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy.

The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazoned baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armor rung, Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jeweled shone the saddle leather, The helmet and the helmet feather Burned like one burning flame together, As he rode down to Camelot.

As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry cl.u.s.ters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed; On burnished hooves his war horse trode; From underneath his helmet flowed His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to Camelot.

From the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror, "Tirra, lirra," by the river Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She looked down to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror cracked from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott.

PART IV.