Poets From England

"Here, gunner, point thy thunder here."

"The truth is that all these men exemplify a triumph of will-power: that is what enabled them to succeed. The strain made some of them harsh — Grenville was harsh, and Bligh of the Bounty. Perhaps Drake too — as certainly he was in his execution of Captain Doughty in South America, before breaking into the Pacific. Still you can't make an omelette without breaking some eggs. It is a mistake to be too soft; one can't expect to achieve anything without grit. That they all had."

"O fairest of the feather’d train! For whom I sing, for whom I burn, Attend with pity to my strain, And grant my love a kind return."

"With leaden foot Time creeps along While Delia is away: With her, nor plaintive was the song, Nor tedious was the day.Ah, envious Pow’r! reverse my doom; Now double thy career, Strain ev’ry nerve, stretch ev’ry plume, And rest them when she’s here!"

"No bush shall boast in all the grove So fond a mate, so blest a wife."

"Within the the authorities had increasing difficulties to contend with from the puritans in these middle years of the reign: at their height from 1571 to 1584. The strength of puritanism was that it was the ideology, or if you prefer, the religion, of the forward-looking gentry and middle class."

"The fact of our being an island has been a great advantage all through our later history. It has given us the benefit of a time-lag, imposed a bulwark between us and the too violent impact of forces from outside. We were given time to work out our own solutions, to absorb the shock of new ideas and movements, to bide our own time and interpose with effect in Europe when the moment was ripe. Since the last war people have got into the habit of underestimating the importance of our insularity; they have been apt to say that the development of air power has annihilated it. Air power has, of course, made an immense difference; but it has not annihilated it. It was our insularity that saved us in 1940."

"The most elaborate of these were those of Christmas 1594, of which we have a detailed, somewhat tedious account — for what amused the Elizabethans does not much amuse us (Shakespeare and Ben Jonson excepted)."

"Dear Lesbia let us love and play, Not caring what Old Age can say; The Sun does set, again does rise, And with fresh Lustre gild the Skies. When once extinguisht is our Light, Wee’re wrapt in everlasting Night. A thousand times my lips then kiss An hundred more renew the bliss; Another thousand add to these, An hundred more will not suffice, Another thousand will not do, Another hundred are too few. A thousand more these Joyes wee’ll prove, Till wee’re extravagant in Love, Till no malicious Spie can ghess To what a wonderful Excess My Lesbia and I did kiss."

"Thou Glorious Rivall of the Sky, Why in Night's bed dost thou still lye? Lift up thy head, thou queen of flow'rs, Gay daughter of celestial pow'rs! Now no wat'rish clouds appear, Gentle zephyrs calm the air; Now the Western Gales do play, And the Northern Blasts allay. Arise! But ask not whose bright Face, Or Hair thy native Beam may grace; The Lewd, Lascivious, and Prophane May glory from thy Beauties gain, Thou sacred Trophy of chaste Love, Thou Wealth of Vertue fixt Above! Forbour the vulgar heads t'adorn, For Shrines and Altars Thou art born; The Blessed Virgin's Hair, now unconfin'd, Which sports with easy soft obsequious Wind, Thy gay Perfumes, and youthful Leaves shall bind."

"Thrice happy Thou! Who on the Poplar's Boughs, Sit'st drunk with Heav'n's Ambrosial Dews. And with thy Notes thyself, dost please, And all the numʼrous Throng of list'ning Trees.After long Colds and odious Winters past, On nimble Wheels the Summers hast; Blame its unkindness, gently say — The Sun too soon withdraws his chearing Ray.As ev'ry happy Day itself does show, So in a trice it leaves us too, No pleasure over long remains For short-liv'd joyes We meet with lasting pains."

"Tripping down the field-path, Early in the morn, There I met my own love 'Midst the golden corn; Autumn winds were blowing, As in frolic chase, All her silken ringlets Backward from her face; Little time for speaking Had she, for the wind, Bonnet, scarf, or ribbon, Ever swept behind.Still some sweet improvement In her beauty shone; Every graceful movement Won me,—one by one! [...] Little time for wooing Had we, for the wind Still kept on undoing What we sought to bind. [...] Still I see the field-path;— Would that I could see Her whose graceful beauty Lost is now to me!"

"Time to me this truth has taught ('Tis a treasure worth revealing), More offend from want of thought, Than from any want of feeling."

"It is a known circumstance that when, at six years old, the tailor came to measure him for his first suit, he was sent into what was called Sidney’s little study, a small quiet room he much favoured; and on the man stating his errand, and his mother repeating it, Sidney said, “I am reading, come and tell me about this line; I cannot tell quite what Milton means here.” To which the man replied, “I know nothing about books, Sir, I am come to take your measure for your new clothes;” and poor Sidney was obliged to put down his Milton, saying, in his always sweet manner when a child “I am so sorry you do not know about such books, they would make you so happy.”"

"-spots, Aye bright with spiritual sunshine."

"Alas! a woman that attempts the pen, Such an intruder on the rights of men, Such a presumptuous Creature, is esteem’d, The fault, can by no vertue be redeem’d."

"Did I my lines intend for publick view, How many censures wou’d their faults persue; ... True judges might condemn their want of witt, And all might say, they’re by a Woman writt."

"They tell us we mistake our sex and way; Good breeding, fassion, dancing, dressing, play Are the accomplishments we shou’d desire; To write, or read, or think, or to enquire Wou’d cloud our beauty and exaust our time, And interrupt the Conquests of our prime; Whilst the dull mannage of a servile house Is held by some our outmost art and use."

"This to the crown and blessing of my life, The much lov’d husband of a happy wife; To him whose constant passion found the art To win a stubborn and ungratefull heart, And to the world by tend’rest proof discovers, They err, who say that husbands can’t be lovers."

"Judge not my passion by my want of skill: Many love well, though they express it ill; And I your censure cou’d with pleasure bear, Wou’d you but soon returne, and speake it here."

"How are we fal’n, fal’n by mistaken rules, And Education’s more than Nature’s fools."

"Love, thou art best of Human Joys, Our chiefest Happiness below; All other Pleasures are but Toys, Musick without Thee is but Noise, And Beauty but an empty show.Heav’n, who knew best what Man wou’d move, And raise his Thoughts above the Brute; Said, Let him Be, and Let him Love; That must alone his Soul improve, Howe’er Philosophers dispute."

"The King, the Priest, the Prophet, all are Thine, Nor wou’d ev’n God (in Flesh) thy Stroke decline."

"Cou’d our First Father, at his toilsome Plough, Thorns in his Path, and Labour on his Brow, Cloath’d only in a rude, unpolish’d Skin, Cou’d he a vain Fantastick Nymph have seen, In all her Airs, in all her antick Graces, Her various Fashions, and more various Faces; How had it pos’d that Skill, which late assign’d Just Appellations to Each several Kind! A right idea of the Sight to frame; T’have guest from what New Element she came; T’have hit the wav’ring Form, and giv’n this Thing a Name."

"Too solemn for day, too sweet for night, Come not in darkness, come not in light; But come in some twilight interim, When the gloom is soft, and the light is dim."

"Free as Nature’s first intention Was to make us, I’ll be found, Nor by subtle Man’s invention Yeild to be in Fetters bound By one that walks a freer round.Mariage does but slightly tye Men Whil’st close Pris’ners we remain, They the larger Slaves of Hymen Still are begging Love again At the full length of all their chain."

"Only tell her that I love: Leave the rest to her and Fate: Some kind planet from above May perhaps her pity move: Lovers on their stars must wait.— Only tell her that I love!Why, O why should I despair! Mercy’s pictured in her eye: If she once vouchsafe to hear, Welcome Hope and farewell Fear! She’s too good to let me die.— Why, O why should I despair?"

"Give me a Girl, if one I needs must meet, Or in her nuptial, or her Winding-sheet; I know but two good Hours that Women have, One in the Bed, another in the Grave, Thus of the whole Sex all I would desire, Is to enjoy their Ashes or their Fire."

"There are two Births, the one when Light First strikes the new awak’ned sense; The Other when two Souls unite; And we must count our life from thence: When you lov’d me, and I lov’d you, Then both of us were born anew.Love then to us did new Souls give, And in those Souls did plant new pow’rs; Since when another life we live, The Breath we breathe is his, not ours; Love makes those young, whom Age doth Chill, And whom he finds young, keeps young still."

"She who to Heaven more heaven doth annex, Whose lowest Thought was above all our Sex, Accounted nothing Death but t’be Repriv’d, And dyed as free from sickness as she liv’d. Others are dragg’d away, or must be driven, She only saw her time and stept to Heaven."

"I can hear thee curse, yet chase thee; Drink thy tears, yet still embrace thee. Easie riches is no treasure; She that’s willing, spoils the pleasure. Love bids learn the restless fight, Pull and struggle whilst ye twine: Let me use my force to night, The next conquest shall be thine."

"When all the Blandishments of Life are gone, The Coward sneaks to Death, the Brave live on."

"The characteristics of De Tabley’s poetry are pre-eminently magnificence of style, derived from close study of Milton, sonority, dignity, weight and colour. His passion for detail was both a strength and a weakness: it lent a loving fidelity to his description of natural objects, but it sometimes involved him in a loss of simple effect from over-elaboration of treatment. He was always a student of the classic poets, and drew much of his inspiration directly from them. He was a true and a whole-hearted artist, who, as a brother poet well said, “still climbed the clear cold altitudes of song.” His ambition was always for the heights, a region naturally ice-bound at periods, but always a country of clear atmosphere and bright, vivid outlines."

"Thou felon anchorite of pain Who sittest in a world of slain."

"Hero and herdsman in red earth are one."

"I had a true-love, none so dear, And a friend both leal and tried. I had a cask of good old beer, And a gallant horse to ride.A little while did Fortune smile On him and her and me. We sang along the road of life Like birds upon a tree.My lady fell to shame and hell, And with her took my friend. My cask ran sour, my horse went lame,— So alone in the cold I end."

"Sigh, heart, and break not; rest, lark, and wake not! Day I hear coming to draw my Love away. As mere-waves whisper, and clouds grow crisper, Ah, like a rose he will waken up with day!"

"Arcadian spaces of great grass arise; Crisp lambs are merry: hoary vales are laid, Studded with roe-deer and wild straw-berries: In one a shepherd tabours, near a maid,Who teazes at the button of his cloak, Where rarely underneath them grows the herb; A squirrel eyes the lovers from an oak, And speckled horses pasture without curb.In a fair meadow set with tulip heads; A water-mill rolls little crested falls Of olive torrent, broken in grey threads, A grave-yard crowds black crosses in square walls.Quaint pastoral Arcadia, where are set Thy rainy lands and reddish underwoods? Earth hath not held thy fabled sunsets yet, Though lovers build their palace on thy roods."

"Sweet are the ways of death to weary feet, Calm are the shades of men. The phantom fears no tyrant in his seat, The slave is master then.Love is abolish’d; well, that this is so; We knew him best as Pain. The gods are all cast out, and let them go! Who ever found them gain?Ready to hurt and slow to succour these; So, while thou breathest, pray. But in the sepulchre all flesh has peace; Their hand is put away."

"His mind was like a jewel with innumerable facets, all slightly blurred or misted; or perhaps it would be a juster illustration to compare his character to an opal, where all the colours lie perdue, drowned in a milky mystery, and so arranged that to a couple of observers, simultaneously bending over it, the prevalent hue shall in one case seem a pale green, in the other a fiery crimson."

"[H]aving entered the lists of Poetry, should I be foiled at the first onset, I may probably, like a true knight, who, as Cid Hamete's hero says, "though he be vanquished to-day, may conquer to-morrow," re-set my lance in rest, and venture another encounter."

"The angel, crossing heaven on wings of light, Stooped to admire, and paused upon his flight, As Woman rose in beauty on the plain, The last and loveliest link of Being's chain."

"How long will conquerors trample earth, And Strength prevail o'er Right and Worth? Gaze round the world—this truth confess, The powerful still the weak oppress; New empires spring o'er empires' graves, Some must be free, and some be slaves; Some spirits rise, some sink as deep, And these must smile and those must weep: Man, as he thinks and acts below, An equal lot can never know."

"Old scenes to visit, and old dreams to dream, Shall not to us a task of labour seem."

"A fair girl tripping out to meet her love, Trimmed in her best, fresh as a clover bud. An old crone leaning at an ember’d fire, Short-breath’d in sighs and moaning to herself— And all the interval of stealing years To make that this, and one by one detach Some excellent condition; till Despair Faint at the vision, sadly, fiercely blinds Her burning eyes on her forgetful hands."

"Boldly I preach, hate a cross, hate a surplice, Mitres, copes, and rotchets: Come hear me pray nine times a day, And fill your heads with crotchets."

"Farewell, Rewards and Faeries, Good Housewives now may say, For now foule Slutts in Dairies Doe fare as well as they; And though they sweepe theyr Hearths no less Than Maydes were wont to doe, Yet who of late for Cleaneliness Finds sixe-pence in her Shoe?"

"I wish thee, Vin, before all wealth, Both bodily and ghostly health: ... I wish thee all thy mothers graces, Thy father’s fortunes, and his places. I wish thee friends, and one at Court, Not to build on, but support; To keep thee, not in doing many Oppressions, but from suffering any."

"But, since of late, Elizabeth, And later James, came in, They never daunc’d on any heath As when the Time hath bin.By which wee note the Faries Were of the old Profession; Theyre Songs were Ave Maryes, Theyre Daunces were Procession."

"I adore war. ... It is like a big picnic but without the objectivelessness of a picnic. I have never been more well or more happy. ... It just suits my stolid health and stolid nerves and barbaric disposition. The fighting-excitement vitalizes everything, every sight and action. One loves one's fellow man so much more when one is bent on killing him."