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No tree, whose braunches did not bravely spring;
was overcome of thing that did him please;
THE ENCOUNTER BETWEEN ARTEGILL AND
with bitter stroke it both began and ended.
The more she raged, the more he did abide; she hewd, she foynd, she lasht, she laid on every side.
Yet still her blows he bore, and her forbore
soon as he feells it mollifide with heat,
ARTEGALL DISARMS RADIGUND
AVING her thus disarméd of her shield,
upon her helmet he againe her strooke,
and her sun-shynie helmet soone unlaced, thinking at once both head and helmet to have raced.
But, when as he discovered had her face,
like as the moone, in foggie winters night, doth seeme to be herselfe, though darkned be her light.
At sight thereof his cruell minded hart
a while about her with confused eye;
MENINON TO ACHILLES
TOW shalt thou surely fall beneath my might,
Troy, boasting that thou of heroes art the chief, and froin a Nereid born; but thou to-day shalt cease thy vaunts for ever, for I spring from blest Aurora, goddess of the dawn, and me th? Hesperides, as lilies fair, reard in their bowers beside the ocean-streams. I hold thy strength in war but slight, thy birth being than mine less noble, since I know how much an heavenly goddess doth excel a Nereid of the deep. My mother gives the rosy light (a precious benefit) to Gods and men, who in the gift rejoice, but still inglorious doth thy mother sit low in the sunless caverns of the sea amid the wallowing fishes; therefore I deem her most worthless, when compared to them who tread th’Olympian floor.
CLOE'S SUIT TO THENOT
HEPHERD, I pray thee stay. Where hast thou
been ? Or whither goest thou ? Here be woods as green as any; air likewise as fresh and sweet as where smooth Zephyrus plays on the fleet face of the curléd streams ; with flowers as many as the young spring gives, and as choice as any; here be all new delights, cool streams and wells, arbours o’ergrown with woodbines, caves, and dells: choose where thou wilt, whilst I sit by and sing, or gather rushes, to make many a ring for thy long fingers; tell thee tales of love,how the pale Phæbe, hunting in a grove, first saw the boy Endymion, from whose eyes she took eternal fire that never dies; how she convey'd him softly in a sleep, his temples bound with poppy, to the steep head of old Latmus, where she stoops each night, gilding the mountain with her brother's light, to kiss her sweetest.
THE THREE CHAMPIONS OF ROME AGAINST
right glorious to behold,
of a broad sea of gold.
a peal of warlike glee,
where stood the dauntless Three.
and looked upon the foes,
from all the vanguard rose:
before that deep array;
T. B. MACAULAY
THE WIDOW OF GLENCOE
with my unavailing cries,
stricken by the traitor, lies;
that this hideous night has won,
at the murder he has done. Other eyes than mine shall glisten,
other hearts be rent in twain,
wither in the autumn rain.
and I'll veil my weary head,
dearer than my bridal-bed:
if the tears remain to me,
W. S. AYTOUN
UT, as he walked, King Arthur panted hard
like one that feels a nightmare on his bed when all the house is mute. So sighed the King, muttering and murmuring at his ear · Quick, quick! I fear it is too late, and I shall die.' But the other quickly strode from ridge to ridge clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walked, larger than human on the frozen hills. He heard the deep behind him, and a cry before. His own thought drove him like a goad. Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves and barren chasms, and all to left and right
the bare black cliff clanged round him, as he based
and the long glories of the winter moon.
dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern,
or hath come, since the making of the world. 1258 Then murmur'd Arthur, ‘Place me in the barge, and to the barge they came. There those three
Queens put forth their hands, and took the King and wept. But she, that rose the tallest of them all and fairest, laid his head upon her lap, and loosed the shatter'd casque, and chafed his
hands, and call’d him by his name, complaining loud, and dropping bitter tears against his brow striped with dark blood: for all his face was white and colourless, and like the wither'd moon smote by the fresh beam of the springing east: and all his greaves and cuisses dash'd with drops of onset; and the light and lustrous curlsthat made his forehead like a rising sun high from the däis-throne-were parch'd with dust; or, clotted into points and hanging loose, mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his lips. So like a shatter'd column lay the King; not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest, from spur to plume a star of tournament, shot thro' the lists at Camelot, and charged before the eyes of ladies and of kings.