Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

HAT awful pérspective! while from our sight

WHAT

With gradual stealth the lateral windows hide
Their portraitures, their stone-work glimmers, dyed
In the soft checkerings of a sleepy light.
Martyr, or king, or sainted Eremite,

Whoe'er ye be, that thus, yourselves unseen,
Imbue your prison-bars with solemn sheen,
Shine on, until ye fade with coming night!
But, from the arms of silence, — list! O, list!
The music bursteth into second life;

The notes luxuriate, every stone is kissed
By sound, or ghost of sound, in mazy strife;
Heart-thrilling strains, that cast, before the eye
Of the devout, a veil of ecstasy!

William Wordsworth.

HEY dreamt not of a perishable home

THEY

Who thus could build. Be mine, in hours of fear

Or grovelling thought, to seek a refuge here;

Or through the aisles of Westminster to roam;
Where bubbles burst, and folly's dancing foam
Melts, if it cross the threshold; where the wreath
Of awe-struck wisdom droops: or let my path
Lead to that younger pile, whose sky-like dome
Hath typified by reach of daring art
Infinity's embrace; whose guardian crest,
The silent cross, among the stars shall spread
As now, when she hath also seen her breast
Filled with mementos, satiate with its part
Of grateful England's overflowing dead.
William Wordsw

I

TRINITY COLLEGE.

PAST beside the reverend walls In which of old I wore the gown; I roved at random through the town, And saw the tumult of the halls;

And heard once more in college fanes
The storm their high-built organs make,
And thunder-music, rolling, shake
The prophets blazoned on the panes ;

And caught once more the distant shout,
The measured pulse of racing oars
Among the willows; paced the shores
And many a bridge, and all about

The same gray flats again, and felt

The same, but not the same; and last Up that long walk of limes I past To see the rooms in which he dwelt.

Another name was on the door:

I lingered; all within was noise

Of songs, and clapping hands, and boys That crashed the glass and beat the floor;

Where once we held debate, a band

Of youthful friends, on mind and art And labor, and the changing mart, And all the framework of the land;

I

When one would aim an arrow fair,

But send it slackly from the string; And one would pierce an outer ring, And one an inner, here and there;

And last the master-bowman, he

Would cleave the mark. A willing ear
We lent him. Who, but hung to hear
The rapt oration flowing free

From point to point with power and grace,
And music in the bounds of law,

To those conclusions when we saw
The God within him light his face,

And seem to lift the form, and glow
In azure orbits heavenly-wise;
And over those ethereal eyes
The bar of Michael Angelo.

Alfred Tennyson.

ON REVISITING TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.

HAVE a debt of my heart's own to thee,

School of my soul! old lime and cloister shade! Which I, strange suitor, should lament to see Fully acquitted and exactly paid.

The first ripe taste of manhood's best delights, Knowledge imbibed, while mind and heart agree, In sweet belated talk on winter nights,

With friends whom growing time keeps dear to me;Such things I owe thee, and not only these:

I owe thee the far-beaconing memories

Of the young dead, who, having crossed the tide Of Life where it was narrow, deep, and clear, Now cast their brightness from the farther side On the dark-flowing hours I breast in fear.

Lord Houghton.

THE BACKS.

ROPPING down the river,

DROPPI

Down the glancing river,
Through the fleet of shallops,
Through the fairy fleet,

Underneath the bridges,

Carvéd stone and oaken,

Crowned with sphere and pillar,
Linking lawn with lawn,

Sloping swards of garden,
Flowering bank to bank;
Midst the golden noontide,
'Neath the stately trees,
Reaching out their laden
Arms to overshade us;
Midst the summer evens,
Whilst the winds were heavy
With the blossom-odors,
Whilst the birds were singing
From their sleepless nests.

Dropping down the river,
Down the branchéd river,

Through the hidden outlet
Of some happy stream,
Lifting up the leafy
Curtain that o'erhung it,
Fold on fold of foliage

Not proof against the stars.

Drinking ruby claret

From the silvered "Pewter,"

Spoil of ancient battle
On the "ready" Cam,
Ne'er to be forgotten
Pleasant friendly faces
Mistily discerning
Through the glass below.

Ah! the balmy fragrance
Of the mild Havanna!
Downed amidst the purple
Of our railway wrappers,
Solemn-thoughted, glorious
On the verge of June.
Musical the rippling
Of the tardy current,
Musical the murmur
Of the wind-swept trees,
Musical the cadence
Of the friendly voices
Laden with the sweetness
Of the songs of old.

James Payn

« AnteriorContinuar »