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Lines on Thamesford

Delivered at Masonic concert, Thamesford-Grand Master
Col. Moffat in the chair.

The middle branch of Thames doth flow
O'er pebble bed, and it doth glow
And sparkle like silver in the sun,
As it through pasture lands doth run.

In dam is ample water stored,
To drive flour mills in Thamesford ;
Besides the power of the stream,
Saw mills and flax are drove by steam.

Our mind it doth with pleasure fill,
To see fine brick church on each hill.
And that substantial one of stone
Owned by congregation of St. John.

poem by James McIntyre
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Handles Bermuda

bean bag spokane
betty boop retro bowling bag
beli ni bags
bean bag hawaii
belongs in your bag wedge grab
bedroom in a bag seashells
betsey johnson blue metallic bag
be lstaff bags
betty boop big travel bag
bean bag toos games
bean bag lob
bicycle gear bag
bean bag filler poly fil
bean bag chair minnesota
bean bag filler at walmart
bean bag patterns to make
beverly hills polo club cosmetics bags
bean bag chair ohio state
bean bag toss video game
bennington golf bag
beige plastic handle bag
bean bags for dogs
bean bag toose game
beg barrow or steal bag
benefits of heavy bag use
bennington cart golf bag
bean bag desktop
bean bag tos rules
bean bag game board dimensions
bean bags for cats
bean bag game chicago retailer
ben hogan apex cart bag
bem is bag co
bejio bags
beetle bags zx12r
bemis bag plastic bags
bean bag singaproe
bean bag drink holder
betseyville be mine satchel bag
bean bags inexpensive
bean bag shotgun pics
bedouin bag by radley
b ean bags bulk
bean bag toss tailgate games
bella animal print bag
beresford packaging plastic bags
bean bag store toronto
ben sherman messenger bags
bejui bags
beijo bags

[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
Added by Poetry Lover
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Luggage Canada

b ean bag stoer
bed liner motorcycle bags
bern aby bag
bed in a bag ty pennington
beetle bags roadstar midnight star
bean bag chairs burbank
bedroom in a bag justine
bean bag guns for purchase
berto bag
bed in a bag pink paisley
belt bag tool belt
biasia byoux bags
beer corn hole bags
beg borrow steal bags
bennington golf travel bag
bible verse shoulder hand bags
bean bag stuffing material
bean bag plastic pellets
beijo business bags pastel blue
belkin messenger bag
b ean bag simba
bean bag toss game specifications
bean bag chairs reno nv
bean bag herb alpert
bean bag forgame
bella hand bags
bean bag chair video
bean bag door stops
beretta nra approved gun bag
ben hogan kapalua golf bag
bes pak freezer bags
bean bag furniture paypal
bean bags chair ladybug
bean bag tossing game
betty boop gift bags
bean bag tic tac toe
bettz designs knitting tote bags
bean bag toss rules
beth any bag
bean bag chair indigo denim print
bean bag pillows microfiber
be an foam bag
bible buy loaf bag
bebe handbag bag
beverage delivery bags
betty boop harley bag
bichon frise gift bags
ben hogan golf mystique stand bag
bicyce crossbar bag
bean bag shells shotgun

[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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She Said Yeah

(Larry Williams)
Dam deedle dee dam dam
Little girl, where did you come from
Try a little bit to make my mouth dribble
Come on baby, let's ride away in the rain
Baby you drive me crazy
Drive my poor heart hazy
Just a little bit
A little while with you
Come on baby, let's ride away in the rain
She said yeah, dam deedle dee dam dam
She said yeah, dam deedle dee dam dam
She said yeah, yeah yeah yeah
Come on baby I want to make love to you
Well you drive me crazy
Dam deedle dee dam dam
My love is lazy
Dam deedle dee dam dam
Little miss I want to kiss
Come on baby, won't you do what I wish
She said yeah, dam deedle dee dam dam
She said yeah, dam deedle dee dam dam
She said yeah, yeah yeah yeah
Come on baby I want to make love to you
Yeah, ow!
Well I got the feeling, dam deedle dee dam dam
In my soul, dam deedle dee dam dam
I'm gonna love you, you know
One night or another
Come on baby, let me hear you say you love me
She said yeah, dam deedle dee dam dam
She said yeah, dam deedle dee dam dam
She said yeah, yeah yeah yeah
Come on baby I want to make love to you

song performed by Paul McCartney
Added by Lucian Velea
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Car Crazy Cutie

Run a-run a doo run run
Wo run a-run a doo run run
Wo run a-run a doo run run
Wo run a-run a doo run run
Well my steady little doll is a real-live beauty
And everybody knows shes a car crazy cutie
Shes hip to everything man from customs to rails
And axel grease imbedded neath her fingernails
Wo yeah (run a-run a doo run run)
Wo oh oh oh (wo run a-run a doo run run)
Oh oh oh now cutie (wo run a-run a doo run run)
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh (wo run a-run a doo run run)
A power shift in second and a-ridin the clutch
My car crazy cutie, man, shes just too much
I take her to the drags, man, and everyone flips
For her big blue eyes and her candy apple lips
Wo yeah (run a-run a doo run run)
Wo oh oh oh oh (wo run a-run a doo run run)
Oh oh oh now cutie (wo run a-run a doo run run)
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh (wo run a-run a doo run run)
Yeah oh
Car crazy cutie
Car crazy cutie
Car crazy cutie
Car crazy cutie
Well I guess you might say shes the rodders dream gal
Always there to help, man, when you need a pal
But when I talk of lovin man, some kisses and hugs
Says shes like to take em better clean and gap the plugs
Wo yeah (run a-run a doo run run)
Wo oh oh oh (wo run a-run a doo run run)
Oh oh oh now cutie (wo run a-run a doo run run)
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh (wo run a-run a doo run run)
Run a-run a doo run run
Wo run a-run a doo run run
Wo run a-run a doo run run
Wo oh oh oh (wo run a-run a doo run run)
Wo yeah (run a-run a doo run run)
Wo oh oh oh (wo run a-run a doo run run)
Oh oh oh now cutie (wo run a-run a doo run run)
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh (wo run a-run a doo run run) [doo doo doo]
Wo yeah (run a-run a doo run run)
Wo oh oh oh (wo run a-run a doo run run)
Oh oh oh now cutie (wo run a-run a doo run run)
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh (wo run a-run a doo run run)

song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Venus and Adonis

Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis tried him to the chase;
Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him.
'Thrice fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses;
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses:
'And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety;
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'
With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens;--O! how quick is love:--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:
Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,
And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.
So soon was she along, as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'
He burns with bashful shame; she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;

[...] Read more

poem by William Shakespeare (1593)
Added by Dan Costinaş
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Venus and Adonis

'Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.'

To the right honorable Henry Wriothesly, Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield.
Right honorable.

I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burden only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish and the world's hopeful expectation.

Your honour's in all duty.

Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.
'Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses;
'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety,
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'
With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens:--O, how quick is love!--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:

[...] Read more

poem by William Shakespeare
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Run, Run, Run

I was sitting in the field, feeling the grass.
Counting the stars as they come out.
Feeling (feeling) the breeze, (feeling the breeze)
Feeling (feeling) the spring. (feeling the spring)
Suddenly I noticed there wasnt light anymore.
Run, run, run, run, run to the light,
Run, run, run, run, run for your life.
I tumbled on roots, stumbled on stones.
Lost my marbles, stepped on my glasses.
Feeling (feeling) the air, (feeling the air)
Feeling (feeling) the wind. (feeling the wind)
Suddenly I noticed it wasnt fun anymore.
Run, run, run, run, run towards the light,
Run, run, run, run, run for your life.
I came out of the darkness into the house,
The lights were left on but nobody around.
Feeling (feeling) the room, (feeling the room)
Feeling (feeling) the space. (feeling the space)
Suddenly I noticed it wasnt spring anymore.
Run, run, run, run, run through your life,
Run, run, run, run, run for your life.
(run, run, run, run, run through your life)
(run, run, run, run, run for your life)
Run, run, run, run, run through your life,
Run, run, run, run, run for your life.
(run, run, run, run, run through your life)
For your life.
(run, run, run, run, run for your life)
Run -
(run, run, run, run, run through your life)
For your life.
(run, run, run, run, run for your life)
For your life.
(run, run, run, run, run through your life)
Run, run.
(run, run, run, run, run for your life)
For your life.
(run, run, run, run, run through your life)
For your life.
(run, run, run, run, run for your life)
For your life.
(run, run, run, run, run for your life)

song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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Run, Run, Run

I was sitting in the field, feeling the grass.
Counting the stars as they come out.
Feeling (feeling) the breeze, (feeling the breeze)
Feeling (feeling) the spring. (feeling the spring)
Suddenly I noticed there wasnt light anymore.
Run, run, run, run, run to the light,
Run, run, run, run, run for your life.
I tumbled on roots, stumbled on stones.
Lost my marbles, stepped on my glasses.
Feeling (feeling) the air, (feeling the air)
Feeling (feeling) the wind. (feeling the wind)
Suddenly I noticed it wasnt fun anymore.
Run, run, run, run, run towards the light,
Run, run, run, run, run for your life.
I came out of the darkness into the house,
The lights were left on but nobody around.
Feeling (feeling) the room, (feeling the room)
Feeling (feeling) the space. (feeling the space)
Suddenly I noticed it wasnt spring anymore.
Run, run, run, run, run through your life,
Run, run, run, run, run for your life.
(run, run, run, run, run through your life)
(run, run, run, run, run for your life)
Run, run, run, run, run through your life,
Run, run, run, run, run for your life.
(run, run, run, run, run through your life)
For your life.
(run, run, run, run, run for your life)
Run -
(run, run, run, run, run through your life)
For your life.
(run, run, run, run, run for your life)
For your life.
(run, run, run, run, run through your life)
Run, run.
(run, run, run, run, run for your life)
For your life.
(run, run, run, run, run through your life)
For your life.
(run, run, run, run, run for your life)
For your life.
(run, run, run, run, run for your life)

song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Third Monarchy, being the Grecian, beginning under Alexander the Great in the 112. Olympiad.

Great Alexander was wise Philips son,
He to Amyntas, Kings of Macedon;
The cruel proud Olympias was his Mother,
She to Epirus warlike King was daughter.
This Prince (his father by Pausanias slain)
The twenty first of's age began to reign.
Great were the Gifts of nature which he had,
His education much to those did adde:
By art and nature both he was made fit,
To 'complish that which long before was writ.
The very day of his Nativity
To ground was burnt Dianaes Temple high:
An Omen to their near approaching woe,
Whose glory to the earth this king did throw.
His Rule to Greece he scorn'd should be confin'd,
The Universe scarce bound his proud vast mind.
This is the He-Goat which from Grecia came,
That ran in Choler on the Persian Ram,
That brake his horns, that threw him on the ground
To save him from his might no man was found:
Philip on this great Conquest had an eye,
But death did terminate those thoughts so high.
The Greeks had chose him Captain General,
Which honour to his Son did now befall.
(For as Worlds Monarch now we speak not on,
But as the King of little Macedon)
Restless both day and night his heart then was,
His high resolves which way to bring to pass;
Yet for a while in Greece is forc'd to stay,
Which makes each moment seem more then a day.
Thebes and stiff Athens both 'gainst him rebel,
Their mutinies by valour doth he quell.
This done against both right and natures Laws,
His kinsmen put to death, who gave no cause;
That no rebellion in in his absence be,
Nor making Title unto Sovereignty.
And all whom he suspects or fears will climbe,
Now taste of death least they deserv'd in time,
Nor wonder is t if he in blood begin,
For Cruelty was his parental sin,
Thus eased now of troubles and of fears,
Next spring his course to Asia he steers;
Leavs Sage Antipater, at home to sway,
And through the Hellispont his Ships made way.
Coming to Land, his dart on shore he throws,
Then with alacrity he after goes;
And with a bount'ous heart and courage brave,
His little wealth among his Souldiers gave.
And being ask'd what for himself was left,
Reply'd, enough, sith only hope he kept.

[...] Read more

poem by Anne Bradstreet
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Pearl

Pearl of delight that a prince doth please
To grace in gold enclosed so clear,
I vow that from over orient seas
Never proved I any in price her peer.
So round, so radiant ranged by these,
So fine, so smooth did her sides appear
That ever in judging gems that please
Her only alone I deemed as dear.
Alas! I lost her in garden near:
Through grass to the ground from me it shot;
I pine now oppressed by love-wound drear
For that pearl, mine own, without a spot.

2
Since in that spot it sped from me,
I have looked and longed for that precious thing
That me once was wont from woe to free,
To uplift my lot and healing bring,
But my heart doth hurt now cruelly,
My breast with burning torment sting.
Yet in secret hour came soft to me
The sweetest song I e'er heard sing;
Yea, many a thought in mind did spring
To think that her radiance in clay should rot.
O mould! Thou marrest a lovely thing,
My pearl, mine own, without a spot.

3
In that spot must needs be spices spread
Where away such wealth to waste hath run;
Blossoms pale and blue and red
There shimmer shining in the sun;
No flower nor fruit their hue may shed
Where it down into darkling earth was done,
For all grass must grow from grains that are dead,
No wheat would else to barn be won.
From good all good is ever begun,
And fail so fair a seed could not,
So that sprang and sprouted spices none
From that precious pearl without a spot.

4
That spot whereof I speak I found
When I entered in that garden green,
As August's season high came round
When corn is cut with sickles keen.
There, where that pearl rolled down, a mound
With herbs was shadowed fair and sheen,
With gillyflower, ginger, and gromwell crowned,
And peonies powdered all between.

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
Added by Poetry Lover
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Randall

1, 2, 3, 4,
My name is Randall,
No I don't think I've met you before my friend,
I don't really know you,
But I heard your message on the answering machine,
Think it went something like this,
"Hello Randall,
Heard that you wrote a big hit,
And you're rich now,
Hope you remember the promise you made,
When I taught you everything that you know"
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come.
My name is rock star,
Tell me aren't you sick of me yet, my friends,
Cos I am the asshole,
Who thinks that his advise is all you need to survive,
Give me the sound of the crowd,
Give me the people who know all the lyrics,
Give me the face of the kid in the front,
When he realises what the song is about.
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Here they come.
Time to tell the truth now Randall,
Time to give it up now Randall,
Time to let us know now Randall,
Please, Randall please,
My name is Randall,
And that can be anything you want it to be,
Woo!
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Do run run, do run run,

[...] Read more

song performed by Wheatus
Added by Lucian Velea
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Prothalamion

Calm was the day, and through the trembling air
Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play
A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay
Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair;
When I (whom sullen care,
Through discontent of my long fruitless stay
In prince's court, and expectation vain
Of idle hopes, which still do fly away
Like empty shadows, did afflict my brain),
Walk'd forth to ease my pain
Along the shore of silver-streaming Thames;
Whose rutty bank, the which his river hems,
Was painted all with variable flowers,
And all the meads adorn'd with dainty gems
Fit to deck maidens' bowers,
And crown their paramours,
Against the bridal day, which is not long:
Sweet Thames run softly, till I end my song.

There, in a meadow, by the river's side,
A flock of nymphs I chanced to espy,
All lovely daughters of the flood thereby,
With goodly greenish locks, all loose untied,
As each had been a bride;
And each one had a little wicker basket,
Made of fine twigs, entrailed curiously,
In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket,
And with fine fingers cropt full feateously
The tender stalks on high.
Of every sort, which in that meadow grew,
They gathered some; the violet, pallid blue,
The little daisy, that at evening closes,
The virgin lily, and the primrose true,
With store of vermeil roses,
To deck their bridegrooms' posies
Against the bridal day, which was not long:
Sweet Thames run softly, till I end my song.

With that I saw two swans of goodly hue
Come softly swimming down along the Lee;
Two fairer birds I yet did never see;
The snow which doth the top of Pindus strew,
Did never whiter shew,
Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be,
For love of Leda, whiter did appear;
Yet Leda was (they say) as white as he,
Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near;
So purely white they were,
That even the gentle stream, the which them bare,
Seem'd foul to them, and bad his billows spare

[...] Read more

poem by Edmund Spenser
Added by Poetry Lover
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Fairytales

Dam da ra ra ra ra ram dam da ra ra ra ram
Dam da ra ra ra ra ram dam da ra ra ra ram
Dam da ra ra ra ra ram dam da ra ra ra ram
Dam da ra ra ra ra ram dam da ra ra ra ram

I have lost that precious feeling
When you're not around
If you come then I will show you
How to be in love
Oh uh oh

Magic in the air
There is magic everywhere
Love is like that precious feeling
Keeping you alive

I'm living in a fairytale oh-o-oh
Am I really dreaming I don't no
If I really am don't wake me up
I don't ever want this dream to stop

Dam da ra ra ra ra ram dam da ra ra ra ram
Dam da ra ra ra ra ram dam da ra ra ra ram

I will never let you down cause
You are my only friend
You will never be alone cause
I will always be there
Oh uh oh

Magic in the air
There is magic everywhere
Love is like that precious feeling
Keeping you alive

I'm living in a fairytale oh-o-oh
Am I really dreaming I don't no
If I really am don't wake me up
I don't ever want this dream to stop

Dam da ra ra ra ra ram dam da ra ra ra ram
Dam da ra ra ra ra ram dam da ra ra ra ram

I like what I hear oh-o-oh
I know that this can never be a dream
I've found what I was looking for oh-o-oh
I've found love in a fairytale

Dam da ra ra ra ra ram dam da ra ra ra ram
Dam da ra ra ra ra ram dam da ra ra ra ram

[...] Read more

song performed by Bambee from Fairytales
Added by Lucian Velea
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.

II.

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poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Annus Mirabilis, The Year Of Wonders, 1666

1
In thriving arts long time had Holland grown,
Crouching at home and cruel when abroad:
Scarce leaving us the means to claim our own;
Our King they courted, and our merchants awed.

2
Trade, which, like blood, should circularly flow,
Stopp'd in their channels, found its freedom lost:
Thither the wealth of all the world did go,
And seem'd but shipwreck'd on so base a coast.

3
For them alone the heavens had kindly heat;
In eastern quarries ripening precious dew:
For them the Idumaean balm did sweat,
And in hot Ceylon spicy forests grew.

4
The sun but seem'd the labourer of the year;
Each waxing moon supplied her watery store,
To swell those tides, which from the line did bear
Their brimful vessels to the Belgian shore.

5
Thus mighty in her ships, stood Carthage long,
And swept the riches of the world from far;
Yet stoop'd to Rome, less wealthy, but more strong:
And this may prove our second Punic war.

6
What peace can be, where both to one pretend?
(But they more diligent, and we more strong)
Or if a peace, it soon must have an end;
For they would grow too powerful, were it long.

7
Behold two nations, then, engaged so far
That each seven years the fit must shake each land:
Where France will side to weaken us by war,
Who only can his vast designs withstand.

8
See how he feeds the Iberian with delays,
To render us his timely friendship vain:
And while his secret soul on Flanders preys,
He rocks the cradle of the babe of Spain.

9
Such deep designs of empire does he lay

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poem by John Dryden
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Windsor Forest

Thy forests, Windsor! and thy green retreats,
At once the Monarch's and the Muse's seats,
Invite my lays. Be present, sylvan maids!
Unlock your springs, and open all your shades.
Granville commands; your aid O Muses bring!
What Muse for Granville can refuse to sing?
The groves of Eden, vanish'd now so long,
Live in description, and look green in song:
These, were my breast inspir'd with equal flame,
Like them in beauty, should be like in fame.
Here hills and vales, the woodland and the plain,
Here earth and water, seem to strive again;
Not Chaos like together crush'd and bruis'd,
But as the world, harmoniously confus'd:
Where order in variety we see,
And where, tho' all things differ, all agree.
Here waving groves a checquer'd scene display,
And part admit, and part exclude the day;
As some coy nymph her lover's warm address
Nor quite indulges, nor can quite repress.
There, interspers'd in lawns and opening glades,
Thin trees arise that shun each other's shades.
Here in full light the russet plains extend;
There wrapt in clouds the blueish hills ascend.
Ev'n the wild heath displays her purple dyes,
And 'midst the desart fruitful fields arise,
That crown'd with tufted trees and springing corn,
Like verdant isles the sable waste adorn.
Let India boast her plants, nor envy we
The weeping amber or the balmy tree,
While by our oaks the precious loads are born,
And realms commanded which those trees adorn.
Not proud Olympus yields a nobler sight,
Tho' Gods assembled grace his tow'ring height,
Than what more humble mountains offer here,
Where, in their blessings, all those Gods appear.
See Pan with flocks, with fruits Pomona crown'd,
Here blushing Flora paints th' enamel'd ground,
Here Ceres' gifts in waving prospect stand,
And nodding tempt the joyful reaper's hand;
Rich Industry sits smiling on the plains,
And peace and plenty tell, a Stuart reigns.
Not thus the land appear'd in ages past,
A dreary desart and a gloomy waste,
To savage beasts and savage laws a prey,
And kings more furious and severe than they;
Who claim'd the skies, dispeopled air and floods,
The lonely lords of empty wilds and woods:
Cities laid waste, they storm'd the dens and caves,
(For wiser brutes were backward to be slaves):

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poem by Alexander Pope
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Canto the Second

I
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,
I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,
It mends their morals, never mind the pain:
The best of mothers and of educations
In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain,
Since, in a way that's rather of the oddest, he
Became divested of his native modesty.

II
Had he but been placed at a public school,
In the third form, or even in the fourth,
His daily task had kept his fancy cool,
At least, had he been nurtured in the north;
Spain may prove an exception to the rule,
But then exceptions always prove its worth -—
A lad of sixteen causing a divorce
Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.

III
I can't say that it puzzles me at all,
If all things be consider'd: first, there was
His lady-mother, mathematical,
A—never mind; his tutor, an old ass;
A pretty woman (that's quite natural,
Or else the thing had hardly come to pass);
A husband rather old, not much in unity
With his young wife—a time, and opportunity.

IV
Well—well, the world must turn upon its axis,
And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,
And live and die, make love and pay our taxes,
And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails;
The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us,
The priest instructs, and so our life exhales,
A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame,
Fighting, devotion, dust,—perhaps a name.

V
I said that Juan had been sent to Cadiz -—
A pretty town, I recollect it well -—
'T is there the mart of the colonial trade is
(Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel),
And such sweet girls—I mean, such graceful ladies,
Their very walk would make your bosom swell;
I can't describe it, though so much it strike,
Nor liken it—I never saw the like:

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poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
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Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,--
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.

PART THE FIRST

I

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting
Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway.
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighted the village street and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors

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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Tower Beyond Tragedy

I
You'd never have thought the Queen was Helen's sister- Troy's
burning-flower from Sparta, the beautiful sea-flower
Cut in clear stone, crowned with the fragrant golden mane, she
the ageless, the uncontaminable-
This Clytemnestra was her sister, low-statured, fierce-lipped, not
dark nor blonde, greenish-gray-eyed,
Sinewed with strength, you saw, under the purple folds of the
queen-cloak, but craftier than queenly,
Standing between the gilded wooden porch-pillars, great steps of
stone above the steep street,
Awaiting the King.
Most of his men were quartered on the town;
he, clanking bronze, with fifty
And certain captives, came to the stair. The Queen's men were
a hundred in the street and a hundred
Lining the ramp, eighty on the great flags of the porch; she
raising her white arms the spear-butts
Thundered on the stone, and the shields clashed; eight shining
clarions
Let fly from the wide window over the entrance the wildbirds of
their metal throats, air-cleaving
Over the King come home. He raised his thick burnt-colored
beard and smiled; then Clytemnestra,
Gathering the robe, setting the golden-sandaled feet carefully,
stone by stone, descended
One half the stair. But one of the captives marred the comeliness
of that embrace with a cry
Gull-shrill, blade-sharp, cutting between the purple cloak and
the bronze plates, then Clytemnestra:
Who was it? The King answered: A piece of our goods out of
the snatch of Asia, a daughter of the king,
So treat her kindly and she may come into her wits again. Eh,
you keep state here my queen.
You've not been the poorer for me.- In heart, in the widowed
chamber, dear, she pale replied, though the slaves
Toiled, the spearmen were faithful. What's her name, the slavegirl's?
AGAMEMNON Come up the stair. They tell me my kinsman's
Lodged himself on you.
CLYTEMNESTRA Your cousin Aegisthus? He was out of refuge,
flits between here and Tiryns.
Dear: the girl's name?
AGAMEMNON Cassandra. We've a hundred or so other
captives; besides two hundred
Rotted in the hulls, they tell odd stories about you and your
guest: eh? no matter: the ships
Ooze pitch and the August road smokes dirt, I smell like an
old shepherd's goatskin, you'll have bath-water?
CLYTEMNESTRA
They're making it hot. Come, my lord. My hands will pour it.

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poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Endymion: Book II

O Sovereign power of love! O grief! O balm!
All records, saving thine, come cool, and calm,
And shadowy, through the mist of passed years:
For others, good or bad, hatred and tears
Have become indolent; but touching thine,
One sigh doth echo, one poor sob doth pine,
One kiss brings honey-dew from buried days.
The woes of Troy, towers smothering o'er their blaze,
Stiff-holden shields, far-piercing spears, keen blades,
Struggling, and blood, and shrieks--all dimly fades
Into some backward corner of the brain;
Yet, in our very souls, we feel amain
The close of Troilus and Cressid sweet.
Hence, pageant history! hence, gilded cheat!
Swart planet in the universe of deeds!
Wide sea, that one continuous murmur breeds
Along the pebbled shore of memory!
Many old rotten-timber'd boats there be
Upon thy vaporous bosom, magnified
To goodly vessels; many a sail of pride,
And golden keel'd, is left unlaunch'd and dry.
But wherefore this? What care, though owl did fly
About the great Athenian admiral's mast?
What care, though striding Alexander past
The Indus with his Macedonian numbers?
Though old Ulysses tortured from his slumbers
The glutted Cyclops, what care?--Juliet leaning
Amid her window-flowers,--sighing,--weaning
Tenderly her fancy from its maiden snow,
Doth more avail than these: the silver flow
Of Hero's tears, the swoon of Imogen,
Fair Pastorella in the bandit's den,
Are things to brood on with more ardency
Than the death-day of empires. Fearfully
Must such conviction come upon his head,
Who, thus far, discontent, has dared to tread,
Without one muse's smile, or kind behest,
The path of love and poesy. But rest,
In chaffing restlessness, is yet more drear
Than to be crush'd, in striving to uprear
Love's standard on the battlements of song.
So once more days and nights aid me along,
Like legion'd soldiers.

Brain-sick shepherd-prince,
What promise hast thou faithful guarded since
The day of sacrifice? Or, have new sorrows
Come with the constant dawn upon thy morrows?
Alas! 'tis his old grief. For many days,
Has he been wandering in uncertain ways:

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poem by John Keats
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