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Your fogs hang black on the chimney-stack,
Your sky is a murky tent,

Come down from the smoke of the town-bred folk
And "drive" to your heart's content,

Where the white balls flee from the sanded "tee"

On the pleasant shores of Kent.

The horse-hoof flops by your flaring shops,
The omnibus-cargoes reel,

The mud-swill spits on the portly cits

From the spin of the roaring wheel,

Come down where the breeze from the Channel Seas Blows fresh o'er the dunes of Deal!

The curtain drops as the old year stops
At the door of the opening year,

Come hither and greet his bright young feet

By the marge of the Ocean here,
Where the white waves ride on the racing tide
And the face of Heaven is clear!

E. W. Howson.


The Sun shall prosper the seasons' yield
With fuller crops for the wains to bear,
And feed our flocks in fold and field
With wholesome water and sweetest air.
Plenty shall empty her golden horn,
And grace shall dwell on the brows of youth,
And love shall come as the joy of morn
To waken the eyes of pride and truth.

R. Bridges.



Te circumfluitant foeda inter tecta vapores, subtexuntque cava nube serena poli. eia age! linque fori fumum vacuumque Libonem; hic satius tereti fuste ferire pilam:

te maris ora vocat, candens ubi saepe per auras stridet harenoso sphaera fugata toro.

ungula tundit humum, rutilat qua nocte Subura, et biiugis moles addita nutat equis.

imbre suo adspergunt spectandos ventre Quirites compita, qua torquet raeda sonora lutum. quid dubitas? hic parta salus; freta longa renident Campanumque vigens ventilat aura iugum.

fabula habet finem: limen novus occupat Annus, confecit senior iam moribundus iter. nonne salutandi tibi mecum ad litora ponti candentesque pedes et iuvenilis honor? hic tibi namque refert innubila templa diei aequor ovans late laetificante salo.



Ditante nobis sole feracior
proventus anni et liberior seges
plaustra ingravabit, perque caulas
pascet oves laticum inque campis
salubris umor, cum zephyro integrum
spirante: cornu dives ibi aureum
deplebit ubertas, decorque

fronte super iuvenum tenebit

sedem verendam :-mox hilarans viros,
fastidientum, ceu rediens dies,
exorta recludet voluptas
ingenuos oculos amori.

E. L.



I chide with thee not, that thy sharp
Upbraidings often assail'd
England, my country; for we,
Fearful and sad, for her sons,
Long since, deep in our hearts,
Echo the blame of her foes.
We, too, sigh that she flags;
We, too, say that she now,
Scarce comprehending the voice
Of her greatest, golden-mouth'd sons
Of a former age any more,
Stupidly travels her round

Of mechanic business, and lets
Slow die out of her life
Glory, and genius, and joy.

So thou arraign'st her, her foe;
So we arraign her, her sons.
Yes, we arraign her! but she,
The weary Titan! with deaf
Ears, and labour-dimm'd eyes,
Regarding neither to right
Nor left, goes passively by,
Staggering on to her goal;
Bearing on shoulders immense,
Atlanteän, the load,

Wellnigh not to be borne,

Of the too vast orb of her fate.
But was it thou-I think
Surely it was that bard
Unnamed, who, Goethe said,

Had every other gift, but wanted love;
Love, without which the tongue
Even of angels sounds amiss?

Charm is the glory which makes
Song of the poet divine;

Love is the fountain of charm.

How without charm wilt thou draw,
Poet! the world to thy way?


SECUIT LUCILIUS URBEM Non quod petisti saepius Angliam iniuriosis opprobriis queror,

nam corde iamdudum sub imo,

quidquid atrox maledicit hostis, tristes fatemur promeritam; vetus languere robur, nec vegeta capi iam mente, quod vatum disertis

aurea vox numeris canebat saeclo priori, segniter impotens negotiorum dum terit orbitam;

sed fama, sed sensim Camenae,

marcet honos hilaresque risus. infensus haec tu, nos eadem Angliae consentientes obicimus; tamen defessa Titanum propago aure viam facit obserata, metamque cursus, quamquam oculis labor offundit umbras, instabili petit gressu vacillans, nec sinistra

flectit iter neque versa dextra. orbemque vastum et vix tolerabilem, fatale pondus, fert umeris Dea nitens giganteis: sed illo

te reor insimulasse probro, quamquam silebat nomen, Olympium vatem, "vir omni munere praeditus, expers amoris." num placerent

caelicolum sine amore cantus? carmen poetae tum decus adroget insigne, cum se miscuerit lepor

divinus, at sacri leporis

Not by the lightnings of wit!
Not by the thunder of scorn!
These to the world, too, are given;
Wit it possesses, and scorn—
Charm is the poet's alone.
Hollow and dull are the great,

And artists envious, and the mob profane.
We know all this, we know!
Cam'st thou from heaven, O child
Of light! but this to declare?
Alas! to help us forget

Such barren knowledge awhile,
God gave the poet his song.

M. Arnold.



All as God wills, who wisely heeds
To give or to withhold,
And knoweth more of all my needs,
Than all my prayers have told.
Enough that blessings undeserved
Have marked my erring track,
That whereso'er my feet have swerved
His chastening turned me back.
That care and trial seem at last

Through memory's sunset air,
Like mountain ranges overpast

In purple distance fair.

And so the shadows fall apart,
And so the west winds play,
And all the windows of my heart
I open to the day.


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