And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart Deeply has sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, THERE WAS A SOUND OF REVELRY There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gather'd then Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright The lamp shone o'er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! Did ye not hear it? — No; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet – But, hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! arm! it is - it is-the cannon's opening roar. FROM OTHELLO Good name in man or woman, dear my lord, Who steals my purse steals trash; 'Tis something-nothing "Twas mine 'tis his-and has been slave to thousands. But he that filches from me my good name CARDINAL WOLSEY, ON BEING CAST OFF BY KING HENRY VIII Nay, then farewell! I've touch'd the highest point of all my greatness; And, from that full meridian of my glory, I haste now to my setting: I shall fall So farewell to the little good you bear me. But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye! I feel my heart new opened. Oh, how wretched Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me, Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell; And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Thy God's and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, And-pr'ythee, lead me in: There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny; 'tis the King's; my robe And my integrity to Heaven is all I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell I served my King, He would not, in mine age, Have left me naked to mine enemies! - Shakespeare. THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. "Forward, the Light Brigade!" Cannon to right of them, Cannon in front of them Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell Flash'd all their sabres bare, Right through the line they broke: Reel'd from the saber stroke Shatter'd and sunder'd. Then they rode back, but not, Not the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, They that had fought so well When can their glory fade? Honor the charge they made! Noble six hundred! - Tennyson. THANATOPSIS To him who in the love of Nature holds |