The Pageant of English Poetry

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CALIFORNIA

THE PAGEANT

ENGLISH POETRY

1. IT MUST BE SO-PLATO, THOU REASON'ST WELL

IT must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well,

Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?

Or whence this secret dread and inward horror
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself and startles at destruction?
'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us,

'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter,
And intimates Eternity to man.

Eternity!-thou pleasing-dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried being-

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass !
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it.
Here will I hold :-If there's a Power above us

(And that there is, all nature cries aloud

Through all her works), he must delight in Virtue;

And that which he delights in must be happy:

But-when ?-or where ?-This world was made for Caesar.

I'm weary of conjectures :-This must end them.

[Laying his hand on his sword.

Thus I am doubly armed; my death and life,

My bane and antidote are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to an end,
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,

The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds.

J. ADDISON (Cato).

2. THE SPACIOUS FIRMAMENT ON HIGH

THE spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining
frame,

Their great Original proclaim.
The unwearied sun, from day to
day,

Does his Creator's power display;
And publishes to every land
The work of an Almighty hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous
tale;

And nightly to the listening earth,
Repeats the story of her birth;

Whilst all the stars that round

her burn,

And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole
to pole.

What though in solemn silence all
Move round the dark terrestrial
ball;

What though nor real voice nor
sound

Amid their radiant orbs be found?
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice;
For ever singing, as they shine,
The hand that made us is divine.'
J. ADDISON.

3. HE MANY A CREATURE DID ANATOMIZE
HE many a creature did anatomize,

Almost unpeopling water, air, and land;
Beasts, fishes, birds, snails, caterpillars, flies,
Were laid full low by his relentless hand,
That oft with gory crimson was distained:
He many a dog destroyed, and many a cat
Of fleas his bed, of frogs the marshes drained,
Could tellen if a mite were lean or fat,
And read a lecture o'er the entrails of a gnat.
M. AKENSIDE (The Virtuoso).

4. THE HAND OF NATURE

THE hand of Nature on peculiar minds
Imprints a different bias, and to each
Decrees its province in the common toil.
Some within a finer mould

She wrought and tempered with a purer flame.
To these the Sire Omnipotent unfolds

The world's harmonious volume, there to read
The transcript of Himself. On every part
They trace the bright impressions of His hand;
In earth, or air, the meadow's purple stores,
The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's form
Blooming with rosy smiles, they see portrayed
That uncreated Beauty which delights
The Mind supreme. They also feel her charms,
Enamoured: they partake the eternal joy.

M. AKENSIDE (The Pleasures of the Imagination).

5. FROM LINES WRITTEN BY A DEATH-BED'

BUT ah, though peace indeed is

here,

And ease from shame, and rest from fear;

Though nothing can dismarble now
The smoothness of that limpid
brow;

Yet is a calm like this, in truth,
The crowning end of life and youth?
And when this boon rewards the
dead,

Are all debts paid, has all been
said?

And is the heart of youth so light,
Its step so firm, its eye so bright,
Because on its hot brow there blows
A wind of promise and repose
From the far grave, to which it goes?

Because it has the hope to come,
One day, to harbour in the tomb?
Ah no, the bliss youth dreams is

one

For daylight, for the cheerful sun, For feeling nerves and living breath

Youth dreams a bliss on this side death.

It dreams a rest, if not more deep, More grateful than this marble sleep.

It hears a voice within it tellCalm's not life's crown, though calm is well.'

'Tis all perhaps which man ac-
quires:

But 'tis not what our youth desires.
M. ARNOLD.

WORDSWORTH AND GOETHE

BUT Wordsworth's eyes avert their
ken

From half of human fate;
And Goethe's course few sons of

men

May think to emulate.

For he pursued a lonely road,
His eyes on Nature's plan;
Neither made man too much a
God,

Nor God too much a man.

Strong was he, with a spirit free
From mists, and sane, and clear;
Clearer, how much! than ours:
yet we

Have a worse course to steer.

For though his manhood bore the
blast

Of a tremendous time,
Yet in a tranquil world was passed
His tenderer youthful prime.
But we, brought forth and reared
in hours

Of change, alarm, surprise-
What shelter to grow ripe is ours?
What leisure to grow wise?

Too fast we live, too much are tried,
Too harassed, to attain
Wordsworth's sweet calm, or
Goethe's wide

And luminous view to gain.
M. ARNOLD (Stanzas in memory of the Author of ' Obermann').

7. CALM SOUL OF ALL THINGS

CALM Soul of all things! make it
mine

To feel, amid the city's jar,
That there abides a peace of thine,
Man did not make, and cannot mar.
M. ARNOLD (Lines

The will to neither strive nor cry,
The power to feel with others give.
Calm, calm me more; nor let me
die

Before I have begun to live.
written in Kensington Gardens).

8. THE FORSAKEN MERMAN

Where the winds are all asleep; Where the spent lights quiver and gleam;

Where the salt weed sways in the stream;

Where the sea-beasts ranged all round

Feed in the ooze of their pastureground;

Where the sea-snakes coil and twine,

Dry their mail and bask in the brine; Where great whales come sailing by,

Sail and sail, with unshut eye, Round the world for ever and ay? When did music come this way? Children dear, was it yesterday? Children dear, was it yesterday (Call yet once) that she went away ?

Once she sate with you and me, On a red gold throne in the heart

of the sea,

And the youngest sate on her knee. She combed its bright hair, and she tended it well,

When down swung the sound of the far-off bell.

She sighed, she looked up through the clear green sea.

She said: 'I must go, for my kinsfolk pray

In the little grey church on the shore to-day.

"Twill be Easter-time in the world-ah me!

And I lose my poor soul, Merman, here with thee.'

I said: 'Go up, dear heart, through the waves. Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves.'

She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay. Children dear, was it yesterday ?

Children dear, were we long alone?

The sea grows stormy, the little

ones moan.

Long prayers,' I said, 'in the world they say.

Come,' I said, and we rose through the surf in the bay. We went up the beach, by the sandy down

Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-walled town.

Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still,

To the little grey church on the windy hill.

From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers, But we stood without in the cold blowing airs.

We climbed on the graves, on the

stones, worn with rains, And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes. She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear:

'Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here

Dear heart,' I said, we are long alone.

The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan.'

But, ah, she gave me never a look, For her eyes were sealed to the holy book.

Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door.

Come away, children, call no

more.

Come away, come down, call no

more.

Down, down, down,

Down to the depths of the sea. She sits at her wheel in the humming town,

Singing most joyfully.
Hark, what she sings: O joy,
O joy,

For the humming street, and the child with its toy.

For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well.

For the wheel where I spun,
And the blessed light of the sun.'
And so she sings her fill,
Singing most joyfully,

Till the shuttle falls from her hand, And the whizzing wheel stands still.

She steals to the window, and looks at the sand;

And over the sand at the sea;
And her eyes are set in a stare;
And anon there breaks a sigh,
And anon there drops a tear,
From a sorrow-clouded eye,
And a heart sorrow-laden,
A long, long sigh,

For the cold strange eyes of a little
Mermaiden,

And the gleam of her golden hair.

Come away, away, children.
Come, children, come down.
The hoarse wind blows colder;
Lights shine in the town.

She will start from her slumber
When gusts shake the door ;
She will hear the winds howling,
Will hear the waves roar.
We shall see, while above us
The waves roar and whirl,
A ceiling of amber,
A pavement of pearl.

Singing, 'Here came a mortal,
But faithless was she.
And alone dwell for ever
The kings of the sea.'
But, children, at midnight,
When soft the winds blow;
When clear falls the moonlight;
When spring-tides are low:
When sweet airs come seaward
From heaths starred with broom;
And high rocks throw mildly
On the blanched sands a gloom:
Up the still, glistening beaches,

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