JOHN KEBLE.

1792-1866.

Why should we faint and fear to live alone,
Since all alone, so Heaven has willed, we die,
Nor even the tenderest heart, and next our own,
Knows half the reasons why we smile and sigh.
The Christian Year. Twenty-fourth Sunday
after Trinity.

'Tis sweet, as year by year we lose
Friends out of sight, in faith to muse
How grows in Paradise our store.

Burial of the Dead.

Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without Thee I cannot live;
Abide with me when night is nigh,

For without Thee I dare not die. Evening.

BRYAN W. PROCTER. 1787-1874.

The sea! the sea! the open sea!

The blue, the fresh, the ever free!

The Sea.

I'm on the sea! I'm on the sea!

I am where I would ever be,

With the blue above and the blue below,
And silence wheresoe'er I go.

Ibid.

I never was on the dull, tame shore,

But I loved the great sea more and more.

Coleridge.-Talfourd.-Pollok. 551

HARTLEY COLERIDGE. 1796-1849.

Her very frowns are fairer far

Than smiles of other maidens are.

She is not fair.

THOMAS NOON TALFOURD. 1795-1854.

So his life has flowed

From its mysterious urn a sacred stream,
In whose calm depth the beautiful and pure
Alone are mirror'd; which, though shapes of ill
May hover round its surface, glides in light,
And takes no shadow from them.

Ion. Acti. Sc. 1.

"T is a little thing

To give a cup of water; yet its draught
Of cool refreshment, drain'd by fever'd lips,
May give a shock of pleasure to the frame.
More exquisite than when Nectarean juice
Renews the life of joy in happiest hours.

Act i. Sc. 2.

ROBERT POLLOK.

1799-1827.

Sorrows remembered sweeten present joy.

The Course of Time. Book i.

He laid his hand upon "the Ocean's mane" And played familiar with his hoary locks.1

Ibid. Book iv. Line 389.

1 See Byron, Childe Harold, Canto iv. St. 184.

He was a man

Who stole the livery of the court of Heaven

To serve the Devil in.

The Course of Time. Book viii. Line 616.

With one hand he put

A penny in the urn of poverty,

And with the other took a shilling out.

Ibid. Book viii. Line 632.

THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY. 1797-1839.

I'd be a Butterfly; living a rover,

Dying when fair things are fading away.

I'd be a Butterfly.

Oh! no! we never mention her,

Her name is never heard ;

My lips are now forbid to speak

That once familiar word.

Oh! no! we never mention her.

We met 't was in a crowd.

We met.

Why don't the men propose, mamma,
Why don't the men propose?

Why don't the men propose?

She wore a wreath of roses,

The night that first we met.

She wore a wreath.

Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,

Long, long ago, long, long ago.

Long, long ago.

The rose that all are praising

Is not the rose for me.

The rose that all are praising.

O pilot! 't is a fearful night,

There's danger on the deep.

The Pilot.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder;

Isle of Beauty, fare thee well!

Isle of Beauty.

Gayly the Troubadour

Touched his guitar.

Welcome me home.

The mistletoe hung in the castle hall,

The holly branch shone on the old oak wall.

The Mistletoe Bough.

THOMAS HOOD.

1798-1845.

We watched her breathing through the night,

Her breathing soft and low,

As in her breast the wave of life

Kept heaving to and fro.

Our very hopes belied our fears,

Our fears our hopes belied;

The Death-Bed.

We thought her dying when she slept,

And sleeping when she died.

One more Unfortunate

Weary of breath,

Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death.

Ibid.

The Bridge of Sighs.

Withered and shaken,

What can an old man do but die? Ballad.

It is not linen you 're wearing out,

But human creatures' lives.1

Song of the Shirt.

My tears must stop, for every drop
Hinders needle and thread.

Ibid.

But evil is wrought by want of thought

As well as want of heart.

The Lady's Dream.

And there is even a happiness

That makes the heart afraid.

Ode to Melancholy.

1 It 's no fish ye 're buying, it's men's lives. - Scott,

The Antiquary, Ch. xi.