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Look at her garments Clinging like cerements; Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing.Touch her not scornfully ; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly ; Not of the stains of her, All that remains of her Now is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Rash and undutiful; Past all dishonor, Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of. Eve's family, Wipe those poor lips of here, Oozing so clammily. Loop ap her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses ; Whilst wonderment guesses, Where was her home?
Who was her father?
Alas! for the rarity
And her eyes, close them,
Owning her weakness,
WOLSEY'S SOLILOQUY AFTER HIS DOWNFALL.
From “ Henry Eighth." Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honors thick upon him; The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost ; And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, - nips his root, And then he falls as I do. I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory; But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye; I feel my heart new opend: 0, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favors ! There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
WOLSEY'S ADDRESS TO CROMWELL.
Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE MONOTONE.
INVOCATION TO LIGHT. Opening of the Third Book of “ Paradise Lost." Hail, holy Light! offspring of heaven first-born, Or of the Eternal co-eternal beam, May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light, And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate. Or hear’st thou rather, pure ethereal stream, Whose fountain who shall tell ? Before the sun, Before the heavens thou wert, and at the voice Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest The rising world of waters dark and deep, Won from the void and formless infinite. Thee I revisit now with bolder wing, Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detain'd In that obscure sojourn; while in my flight, Through utter and through middle darkness borne, With other notes than to the Orphean lyre, I sung of Chaos and eternal Night; Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to reäscend, Though hard and rare; thee I revisit safe, And feel thy sovran vital lamp; but thou Revisit’st not these eyes, that roll in vain To find thy piercing ray,
and find no dawn; So thick a drop serene hath quench'd their orbs, Or dim diffusion veil'd. Yet not the more Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, That wash thy hallow'd feet, and warbling flow, Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget Those other two equall’d with me in fate, So were I equall'd with them in renown, Blind Thamyris, and blind Mæonides, And Tiresias, and Phineus, prophets old : Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move