NEW POEMSECLOGUE ITHE MONTHSBASIL AND EDWARDManhath with man on earth no holier bondThan that the Muse weaves with her dreamy thread:Nor e’er was such transcendent love more fondThan that which Edward unto Basil led,Wandering alone across the woody shiresTo hear the living voice of that wide heart,To see the eyes that read the world’s desires,And touch the hand that wrote the roving rhyme.Diverse their lots as distant were their homes,And since that early meeting, jealous TimeKnitting their loves had held their lives apart.But now again were these fine lovers metAnd sat together on a rocky hillLooking upon the vales of Somerset,Where the far sea gleam’d o’er the bosky combes,Satisfying their spirits the livelong dayWith various mirth and revelation dueAnd delicate intimacy of delight,As there in happy indolence they layAnd drank the sun, while round the breezy heightBeneath their feet rabbit and listless eweNibbled the scented herb and grass at will.Much talked they at their ease; and at the lastSpoke Edward thus, ’'Twas on this very hillThis time of the year,—but now twelve years are past,—That you provoked in verse my younger skillTo praise the months against your rival song;And ere the sun had westered ten degreesOur rhyme had brought him thro’ the Zodiac.Have you remembered?’—Basil answer’d back,’Guest of my solace, how could I forget?Years fly as months that seem’d in youth so long.The precious life that, like indifferent goldIs disregarded in its worth to holdSome jewel of love that God therein would set,It passeth and is gone.’—’And yet not all’Edward replied: ’The passion as I pleaseOf that past day I can to-day recall;And if but you, as I, remember yetYour part thereof, and will again rehearse,For half an hour we may old Time outwit.’And Basil said, ’Alas for my poor verse!What happy memory of it still enduresWill thank your love: I have forgotten it.Speak you my stanzas, I will ransom yours.Begin you then as I that day began,And I will follow as your answers ran.’JANUARYED.The moon that mounts the sun’s deserted way,Turns the long winter night to a silver day;But setteth golden in face of the solemn sightOf her lord arising upon a world of white.FEBRUARYBA.I have in my heart a vision of spring begunIn a sheltering wood, that feels the kiss of the sun:And a thrush adoreth the melting day that diesIn clouds of purple afloat upon saffron skies.MARCHED.Now carol the birds at dawn, and some new layAnnounceth a homecome voyager every-day.Beneath the tufted sallows the streamlet thrillsWith the leaping trout and the gleam of the daffodils.APRILBA.Then laugheth the year; with flowers the meads are bright;The bursting branches are tipped with flames of light:The landscape is light; the dark clouds flee above,And the shades of the land are a blue that is deep as love.MAYED.But if you have seen a village all red and oldIn cherry-orchards a-sprinkle with white and gold,By a hawthorn seated, or a witchelm flowering high,A gay breeze making riot in the waving rye!JUNEBA.Then night retires from heaven; the highwinds goA-sailing in cloud-pavilions of cavern’d snow.O June, sweet Philomel sang thy cradle-lay;In rosy revel thy spirit shall pass away.JULYED.Heavy is the green of the fields, heavy the treesWith foliage hang, drowsy the hum of beesIn the thundrous air: the crowded scents lie low:Thro’ tangle of weeds the river runneth slow.AUGUSTBA.A reaper with dusty shoon and hat of strawOn the yellow field, his scythe in his armës braw:Beneath the tall grey trees resting at noonFrom sweat and swink with scythe and dusty shoon.SEPTEMBERED.Earth’s flaunting flower of passion fadeth fairTo ripening fruit in sunlit veils of the air,As the art of man makes wisdom to glorifyThe beauty and love of life born else to die.OCTOBERBA.On frosty morns with the woods aflame, down, downThe golden spoils fall thick from the chestnut crown.May Autumn in tranquil glory her riches spend,With mellow apples her orchard-branches bend.NOVEMBERED.Sad mists have hid the sun, the land is forlorn:The plough is afield, the hunter windeth his horn.Dame Prudence looketh well to her winter stores,And many a wise man finds his pleasure indoors.DECEMBERBA.I pray thee don thy jerkin of olden time,Bring us good ice, and silver the trees with rime;And I will good cheer, good music and wine bestow,When the Christmas guest comes galoping over the snow.Thus they in verse alternate sang the yearFor rabbit shy and listless ewe to hear,Among the grey rocks on the mountain greenBeneath the sky in fair and pastoral scene,Like those Sicilian swains, whose doric tongueAfter two thousand years is ever young,—Sweet the pine’s murmur, and, shepherd, sweet thy pipe,—Or that which gentle Virgil, yet unripe,Of Tityrus sang under the spreading beechAnd gave to rustic clowns immortal speech,By rocky fountain or on flowery meadBidding their idle flocks at will to feed,While they, retreated to some bosky glade,Together told their loves, and as they playedSang what sweet thing soe’er the poet feigned:But these were men when good Victoria reigned,Poets themselves, who without shepherd gearEach of his native fancy sang the year.
NEW POEMSECLOGUE ITHE MONTHSBASIL AND EDWARDManhath with man on earth no holier bondThan that the Muse weaves with her dreamy thread:Nor e’er was such transcendent love more fondThan that which Edward unto Basil led,Wandering alone across the woody shiresTo hear the living voice of that wide heart,To see the eyes that read the world’s desires,And touch the hand that wrote the roving rhyme.Diverse their lots as distant were their homes,And since that early meeting, jealous TimeKnitting their loves had held their lives apart.But now again were these fine lovers metAnd sat together on a rocky hillLooking upon the vales of Somerset,Where the far sea gleam’d o’er the bosky combes,Satisfying their spirits the livelong dayWith various mirth and revelation dueAnd delicate intimacy of delight,As there in happy indolence they layAnd drank the sun, while round the breezy heightBeneath their feet rabbit and listless eweNibbled the scented herb and grass at will.Much talked they at their ease; and at the lastSpoke Edward thus, ’'Twas on this very hillThis time of the year,—but now twelve years are past,—That you provoked in verse my younger skillTo praise the months against your rival song;And ere the sun had westered ten degreesOur rhyme had brought him thro’ the Zodiac.Have you remembered?’—Basil answer’d back,’Guest of my solace, how could I forget?Years fly as months that seem’d in youth so long.The precious life that, like indifferent goldIs disregarded in its worth to holdSome jewel of love that God therein would set,It passeth and is gone.’—’And yet not all’Edward replied: ’The passion as I pleaseOf that past day I can to-day recall;And if but you, as I, remember yetYour part thereof, and will again rehearse,For half an hour we may old Time outwit.’And Basil said, ’Alas for my poor verse!What happy memory of it still enduresWill thank your love: I have forgotten it.Speak you my stanzas, I will ransom yours.Begin you then as I that day began,And I will follow as your answers ran.’JANUARYED.The moon that mounts the sun’s deserted way,Turns the long winter night to a silver day;But setteth golden in face of the solemn sightOf her lord arising upon a world of white.FEBRUARYBA.I have in my heart a vision of spring begunIn a sheltering wood, that feels the kiss of the sun:And a thrush adoreth the melting day that diesIn clouds of purple afloat upon saffron skies.MARCHED.Now carol the birds at dawn, and some new layAnnounceth a homecome voyager every-day.Beneath the tufted sallows the streamlet thrillsWith the leaping trout and the gleam of the daffodils.APRILBA.Then laugheth the year; with flowers the meads are bright;The bursting branches are tipped with flames of light:The landscape is light; the dark clouds flee above,And the shades of the land are a blue that is deep as love.MAYED.But if you have seen a village all red and oldIn cherry-orchards a-sprinkle with white and gold,By a hawthorn seated, or a witchelm flowering high,A gay breeze making riot in the waving rye!JUNEBA.Then night retires from heaven; the highwinds goA-sailing in cloud-pavilions of cavern’d snow.O June, sweet Philomel sang thy cradle-lay;In rosy revel thy spirit shall pass away.JULYED.Heavy is the green of the fields, heavy the treesWith foliage hang, drowsy the hum of beesIn the thundrous air: the crowded scents lie low:Thro’ tangle of weeds the river runneth slow.AUGUSTBA.A reaper with dusty shoon and hat of strawOn the yellow field, his scythe in his armës braw:Beneath the tall grey trees resting at noonFrom sweat and swink with scythe and dusty shoon.SEPTEMBERED.Earth’s flaunting flower of passion fadeth fairTo ripening fruit in sunlit veils of the air,As the art of man makes wisdom to glorifyThe beauty and love of life born else to die.OCTOBERBA.On frosty morns with the woods aflame, down, downThe golden spoils fall thick from the chestnut crown.May Autumn in tranquil glory her riches spend,With mellow apples her orchard-branches bend.NOVEMBERED.Sad mists have hid the sun, the land is forlorn:The plough is afield, the hunter windeth his horn.Dame Prudence looketh well to her winter stores,And many a wise man finds his pleasure indoors.DECEMBERBA.I pray thee don thy jerkin of olden time,Bring us good ice, and silver the trees with rime;And I will good cheer, good music and wine bestow,When the Christmas guest comes galoping over the snow.Thus they in verse alternate sang the yearFor rabbit shy and listless ewe to hear,Among the grey rocks on the mountain greenBeneath the sky in fair and pastoral scene,Like those Sicilian swains, whose doric tongueAfter two thousand years is ever young,—Sweet the pine’s murmur, and, shepherd, sweet thy pipe,—Or that which gentle Virgil, yet unripe,Of Tityrus sang under the spreading beechAnd gave to rustic clowns immortal speech,By rocky fountain or on flowery meadBidding their idle flocks at will to feed,While they, retreated to some bosky glade,Together told their loves, and as they playedSang what sweet thing soe’er the poet feigned:But these were men when good Victoria reigned,Poets themselves, who without shepherd gearEach of his native fancy sang the year.
NEW POEMS
BASIL AND EDWARD
Manhath with man on earth no holier bondThan that the Muse weaves with her dreamy thread:Nor e’er was such transcendent love more fondThan that which Edward unto Basil led,Wandering alone across the woody shiresTo hear the living voice of that wide heart,To see the eyes that read the world’s desires,And touch the hand that wrote the roving rhyme.Diverse their lots as distant were their homes,And since that early meeting, jealous TimeKnitting their loves had held their lives apart.But now again were these fine lovers metAnd sat together on a rocky hillLooking upon the vales of Somerset,Where the far sea gleam’d o’er the bosky combes,Satisfying their spirits the livelong dayWith various mirth and revelation dueAnd delicate intimacy of delight,As there in happy indolence they layAnd drank the sun, while round the breezy heightBeneath their feet rabbit and listless eweNibbled the scented herb and grass at will.Much talked they at their ease; and at the lastSpoke Edward thus, ’'Twas on this very hillThis time of the year,—but now twelve years are past,—That you provoked in verse my younger skillTo praise the months against your rival song;And ere the sun had westered ten degreesOur rhyme had brought him thro’ the Zodiac.Have you remembered?’—Basil answer’d back,’Guest of my solace, how could I forget?Years fly as months that seem’d in youth so long.The precious life that, like indifferent goldIs disregarded in its worth to holdSome jewel of love that God therein would set,It passeth and is gone.’—’And yet not all’Edward replied: ’The passion as I pleaseOf that past day I can to-day recall;And if but you, as I, remember yetYour part thereof, and will again rehearse,For half an hour we may old Time outwit.’And Basil said, ’Alas for my poor verse!What happy memory of it still enduresWill thank your love: I have forgotten it.Speak you my stanzas, I will ransom yours.Begin you then as I that day began,And I will follow as your answers ran.’
Manhath with man on earth no holier bondThan that the Muse weaves with her dreamy thread:Nor e’er was such transcendent love more fondThan that which Edward unto Basil led,Wandering alone across the woody shiresTo hear the living voice of that wide heart,To see the eyes that read the world’s desires,And touch the hand that wrote the roving rhyme.Diverse their lots as distant were their homes,And since that early meeting, jealous TimeKnitting their loves had held their lives apart.But now again were these fine lovers metAnd sat together on a rocky hillLooking upon the vales of Somerset,Where the far sea gleam’d o’er the bosky combes,Satisfying their spirits the livelong dayWith various mirth and revelation dueAnd delicate intimacy of delight,As there in happy indolence they layAnd drank the sun, while round the breezy heightBeneath their feet rabbit and listless eweNibbled the scented herb and grass at will.Much talked they at their ease; and at the lastSpoke Edward thus, ’'Twas on this very hillThis time of the year,—but now twelve years are past,—That you provoked in verse my younger skillTo praise the months against your rival song;And ere the sun had westered ten degreesOur rhyme had brought him thro’ the Zodiac.Have you remembered?’—Basil answer’d back,’Guest of my solace, how could I forget?Years fly as months that seem’d in youth so long.The precious life that, like indifferent goldIs disregarded in its worth to holdSome jewel of love that God therein would set,It passeth and is gone.’—’And yet not all’Edward replied: ’The passion as I pleaseOf that past day I can to-day recall;And if but you, as I, remember yetYour part thereof, and will again rehearse,For half an hour we may old Time outwit.’And Basil said, ’Alas for my poor verse!What happy memory of it still enduresWill thank your love: I have forgotten it.Speak you my stanzas, I will ransom yours.Begin you then as I that day began,And I will follow as your answers ran.’
Manhath with man on earth no holier bondThan that the Muse weaves with her dreamy thread:Nor e’er was such transcendent love more fondThan that which Edward unto Basil led,Wandering alone across the woody shiresTo hear the living voice of that wide heart,To see the eyes that read the world’s desires,And touch the hand that wrote the roving rhyme.Diverse their lots as distant were their homes,And since that early meeting, jealous TimeKnitting their loves had held their lives apart.
Manhath with man on earth no holier bond
Than that the Muse weaves with her dreamy thread:
Nor e’er was such transcendent love more fond
Than that which Edward unto Basil led,
Wandering alone across the woody shires
To hear the living voice of that wide heart,
To see the eyes that read the world’s desires,
And touch the hand that wrote the roving rhyme.
Diverse their lots as distant were their homes,
And since that early meeting, jealous Time
Knitting their loves had held their lives apart.
But now again were these fine lovers metAnd sat together on a rocky hillLooking upon the vales of Somerset,Where the far sea gleam’d o’er the bosky combes,Satisfying their spirits the livelong dayWith various mirth and revelation dueAnd delicate intimacy of delight,As there in happy indolence they layAnd drank the sun, while round the breezy heightBeneath their feet rabbit and listless eweNibbled the scented herb and grass at will.
But now again were these fine lovers met
And sat together on a rocky hill
Looking upon the vales of Somerset,
Where the far sea gleam’d o’er the bosky combes,
Satisfying their spirits the livelong day
With various mirth and revelation due
And delicate intimacy of delight,
As there in happy indolence they lay
And drank the sun, while round the breezy height
Beneath their feet rabbit and listless ewe
Nibbled the scented herb and grass at will.
Much talked they at their ease; and at the lastSpoke Edward thus, ’'Twas on this very hillThis time of the year,—but now twelve years are past,—That you provoked in verse my younger skillTo praise the months against your rival song;And ere the sun had westered ten degreesOur rhyme had brought him thro’ the Zodiac.Have you remembered?’—Basil answer’d back,’Guest of my solace, how could I forget?Years fly as months that seem’d in youth so long.The precious life that, like indifferent goldIs disregarded in its worth to holdSome jewel of love that God therein would set,It passeth and is gone.’—’And yet not all’Edward replied: ’The passion as I pleaseOf that past day I can to-day recall;And if but you, as I, remember yetYour part thereof, and will again rehearse,For half an hour we may old Time outwit.’And Basil said, ’Alas for my poor verse!What happy memory of it still enduresWill thank your love: I have forgotten it.Speak you my stanzas, I will ransom yours.Begin you then as I that day began,And I will follow as your answers ran.’
Much talked they at their ease; and at the last
Spoke Edward thus, ’'Twas on this very hill
This time of the year,—but now twelve years are past,—
That you provoked in verse my younger skill
To praise the months against your rival song;
And ere the sun had westered ten degrees
Our rhyme had brought him thro’ the Zodiac.
Have you remembered?’—Basil answer’d back,
’Guest of my solace, how could I forget?
Years fly as months that seem’d in youth so long.
The precious life that, like indifferent gold
Is disregarded in its worth to hold
Some jewel of love that God therein would set,
It passeth and is gone.’—’And yet not all’
Edward replied: ’The passion as I please
Of that past day I can to-day recall;
And if but you, as I, remember yet
Your part thereof, and will again rehearse,
For half an hour we may old Time outwit.’
And Basil said, ’Alas for my poor verse!
What happy memory of it still endures
Will thank your love: I have forgotten it.
Speak you my stanzas, I will ransom yours.
Begin you then as I that day began,
And I will follow as your answers ran.’
JANUARY
ED.The moon that mounts the sun’s deserted way,Turns the long winter night to a silver day;But setteth golden in face of the solemn sightOf her lord arising upon a world of white.
ED.The moon that mounts the sun’s deserted way,Turns the long winter night to a silver day;But setteth golden in face of the solemn sightOf her lord arising upon a world of white.
ED.The moon that mounts the sun’s deserted way,Turns the long winter night to a silver day;But setteth golden in face of the solemn sightOf her lord arising upon a world of white.
ED.The moon that mounts the sun’s deserted way,
Turns the long winter night to a silver day;
But setteth golden in face of the solemn sight
Of her lord arising upon a world of white.
FEBRUARY
BA.I have in my heart a vision of spring begunIn a sheltering wood, that feels the kiss of the sun:And a thrush adoreth the melting day that diesIn clouds of purple afloat upon saffron skies.
BA.I have in my heart a vision of spring begunIn a sheltering wood, that feels the kiss of the sun:And a thrush adoreth the melting day that diesIn clouds of purple afloat upon saffron skies.
BA.I have in my heart a vision of spring begunIn a sheltering wood, that feels the kiss of the sun:And a thrush adoreth the melting day that diesIn clouds of purple afloat upon saffron skies.
BA.I have in my heart a vision of spring begun
In a sheltering wood, that feels the kiss of the sun:
And a thrush adoreth the melting day that dies
In clouds of purple afloat upon saffron skies.
MARCH
ED.Now carol the birds at dawn, and some new layAnnounceth a homecome voyager every-day.Beneath the tufted sallows the streamlet thrillsWith the leaping trout and the gleam of the daffodils.
ED.Now carol the birds at dawn, and some new layAnnounceth a homecome voyager every-day.Beneath the tufted sallows the streamlet thrillsWith the leaping trout and the gleam of the daffodils.
ED.Now carol the birds at dawn, and some new layAnnounceth a homecome voyager every-day.Beneath the tufted sallows the streamlet thrillsWith the leaping trout and the gleam of the daffodils.
ED.Now carol the birds at dawn, and some new lay
Announceth a homecome voyager every-day.
Beneath the tufted sallows the streamlet thrills
With the leaping trout and the gleam of the daffodils.
APRIL
BA.Then laugheth the year; with flowers the meads are bright;The bursting branches are tipped with flames of light:The landscape is light; the dark clouds flee above,And the shades of the land are a blue that is deep as love.
BA.Then laugheth the year; with flowers the meads are bright;The bursting branches are tipped with flames of light:The landscape is light; the dark clouds flee above,And the shades of the land are a blue that is deep as love.
BA.Then laugheth the year; with flowers the meads are bright;The bursting branches are tipped with flames of light:The landscape is light; the dark clouds flee above,And the shades of the land are a blue that is deep as love.
BA.Then laugheth the year; with flowers the meads are bright;
The bursting branches are tipped with flames of light:
The landscape is light; the dark clouds flee above,
And the shades of the land are a blue that is deep as love.
MAY
ED.But if you have seen a village all red and oldIn cherry-orchards a-sprinkle with white and gold,By a hawthorn seated, or a witchelm flowering high,A gay breeze making riot in the waving rye!
ED.But if you have seen a village all red and oldIn cherry-orchards a-sprinkle with white and gold,By a hawthorn seated, or a witchelm flowering high,A gay breeze making riot in the waving rye!
ED.But if you have seen a village all red and oldIn cherry-orchards a-sprinkle with white and gold,By a hawthorn seated, or a witchelm flowering high,A gay breeze making riot in the waving rye!
ED.But if you have seen a village all red and old
In cherry-orchards a-sprinkle with white and gold,
By a hawthorn seated, or a witchelm flowering high,
A gay breeze making riot in the waving rye!
JUNE
BA.Then night retires from heaven; the highwinds goA-sailing in cloud-pavilions of cavern’d snow.O June, sweet Philomel sang thy cradle-lay;In rosy revel thy spirit shall pass away.
BA.Then night retires from heaven; the highwinds goA-sailing in cloud-pavilions of cavern’d snow.O June, sweet Philomel sang thy cradle-lay;In rosy revel thy spirit shall pass away.
BA.Then night retires from heaven; the highwinds goA-sailing in cloud-pavilions of cavern’d snow.O June, sweet Philomel sang thy cradle-lay;In rosy revel thy spirit shall pass away.
BA.Then night retires from heaven; the high
winds go
A-sailing in cloud-pavilions of cavern’d snow.
O June, sweet Philomel sang thy cradle-lay;
In rosy revel thy spirit shall pass away.
JULY
ED.Heavy is the green of the fields, heavy the treesWith foliage hang, drowsy the hum of beesIn the thundrous air: the crowded scents lie low:Thro’ tangle of weeds the river runneth slow.
ED.Heavy is the green of the fields, heavy the treesWith foliage hang, drowsy the hum of beesIn the thundrous air: the crowded scents lie low:Thro’ tangle of weeds the river runneth slow.
ED.Heavy is the green of the fields, heavy the treesWith foliage hang, drowsy the hum of beesIn the thundrous air: the crowded scents lie low:Thro’ tangle of weeds the river runneth slow.
ED.Heavy is the green of the fields, heavy the trees
With foliage hang, drowsy the hum of bees
In the thundrous air: the crowded scents lie low:
Thro’ tangle of weeds the river runneth slow.
AUGUST
BA.A reaper with dusty shoon and hat of strawOn the yellow field, his scythe in his armës braw:Beneath the tall grey trees resting at noonFrom sweat and swink with scythe and dusty shoon.
BA.A reaper with dusty shoon and hat of strawOn the yellow field, his scythe in his armës braw:Beneath the tall grey trees resting at noonFrom sweat and swink with scythe and dusty shoon.
BA.A reaper with dusty shoon and hat of strawOn the yellow field, his scythe in his armës braw:Beneath the tall grey trees resting at noonFrom sweat and swink with scythe and dusty shoon.
BA.A reaper with dusty shoon and hat of straw
On the yellow field, his scythe in his armës braw:
Beneath the tall grey trees resting at noon
From sweat and swink with scythe and dusty shoon.
SEPTEMBER
ED.Earth’s flaunting flower of passion fadeth fairTo ripening fruit in sunlit veils of the air,As the art of man makes wisdom to glorifyThe beauty and love of life born else to die.
ED.Earth’s flaunting flower of passion fadeth fairTo ripening fruit in sunlit veils of the air,As the art of man makes wisdom to glorifyThe beauty and love of life born else to die.
ED.Earth’s flaunting flower of passion fadeth fairTo ripening fruit in sunlit veils of the air,As the art of man makes wisdom to glorifyThe beauty and love of life born else to die.
ED.Earth’s flaunting flower of passion fadeth fair
To ripening fruit in sunlit veils of the air,
As the art of man makes wisdom to glorify
The beauty and love of life born else to die.
OCTOBER
BA.On frosty morns with the woods aflame, down, downThe golden spoils fall thick from the chestnut crown.May Autumn in tranquil glory her riches spend,With mellow apples her orchard-branches bend.
BA.On frosty morns with the woods aflame, down, downThe golden spoils fall thick from the chestnut crown.May Autumn in tranquil glory her riches spend,With mellow apples her orchard-branches bend.
BA.On frosty morns with the woods aflame, down, downThe golden spoils fall thick from the chestnut crown.May Autumn in tranquil glory her riches spend,With mellow apples her orchard-branches bend.
BA.On frosty morns with the woods aflame, down, down
The golden spoils fall thick from the chestnut crown.
May Autumn in tranquil glory her riches spend,
With mellow apples her orchard-branches bend.
NOVEMBER
ED.Sad mists have hid the sun, the land is forlorn:The plough is afield, the hunter windeth his horn.Dame Prudence looketh well to her winter stores,And many a wise man finds his pleasure indoors.
ED.Sad mists have hid the sun, the land is forlorn:The plough is afield, the hunter windeth his horn.Dame Prudence looketh well to her winter stores,And many a wise man finds his pleasure indoors.
ED.Sad mists have hid the sun, the land is forlorn:The plough is afield, the hunter windeth his horn.Dame Prudence looketh well to her winter stores,And many a wise man finds his pleasure indoors.
ED.Sad mists have hid the sun, the land is forlorn:
The plough is afield, the hunter windeth his horn.
Dame Prudence looketh well to her winter stores,
And many a wise man finds his pleasure indoors.
DECEMBER
BA.I pray thee don thy jerkin of olden time,Bring us good ice, and silver the trees with rime;And I will good cheer, good music and wine bestow,When the Christmas guest comes galoping over the snow.Thus they in verse alternate sang the yearFor rabbit shy and listless ewe to hear,Among the grey rocks on the mountain greenBeneath the sky in fair and pastoral scene,Like those Sicilian swains, whose doric tongueAfter two thousand years is ever young,—Sweet the pine’s murmur, and, shepherd, sweet thy pipe,—Or that which gentle Virgil, yet unripe,Of Tityrus sang under the spreading beechAnd gave to rustic clowns immortal speech,By rocky fountain or on flowery meadBidding their idle flocks at will to feed,While they, retreated to some bosky glade,Together told their loves, and as they playedSang what sweet thing soe’er the poet feigned:But these were men when good Victoria reigned,Poets themselves, who without shepherd gearEach of his native fancy sang the year.
BA.I pray thee don thy jerkin of olden time,Bring us good ice, and silver the trees with rime;And I will good cheer, good music and wine bestow,When the Christmas guest comes galoping over the snow.Thus they in verse alternate sang the yearFor rabbit shy and listless ewe to hear,Among the grey rocks on the mountain greenBeneath the sky in fair and pastoral scene,Like those Sicilian swains, whose doric tongueAfter two thousand years is ever young,—Sweet the pine’s murmur, and, shepherd, sweet thy pipe,—Or that which gentle Virgil, yet unripe,Of Tityrus sang under the spreading beechAnd gave to rustic clowns immortal speech,By rocky fountain or on flowery meadBidding their idle flocks at will to feed,While they, retreated to some bosky glade,Together told their loves, and as they playedSang what sweet thing soe’er the poet feigned:But these were men when good Victoria reigned,Poets themselves, who without shepherd gearEach of his native fancy sang the year.
BA.I pray thee don thy jerkin of olden time,Bring us good ice, and silver the trees with rime;And I will good cheer, good music and wine bestow,When the Christmas guest comes galoping over the snow.
BA.I pray thee don thy jerkin of olden time,
Bring us good ice, and silver the trees with rime;
And I will good cheer, good music and wine bestow,
When the Christmas guest comes galoping over the snow.
Thus they in verse alternate sang the yearFor rabbit shy and listless ewe to hear,Among the grey rocks on the mountain greenBeneath the sky in fair and pastoral scene,Like those Sicilian swains, whose doric tongueAfter two thousand years is ever young,—Sweet the pine’s murmur, and, shepherd, sweet thy pipe,—Or that which gentle Virgil, yet unripe,Of Tityrus sang under the spreading beechAnd gave to rustic clowns immortal speech,By rocky fountain or on flowery meadBidding their idle flocks at will to feed,While they, retreated to some bosky glade,Together told their loves, and as they playedSang what sweet thing soe’er the poet feigned:But these were men when good Victoria reigned,Poets themselves, who without shepherd gearEach of his native fancy sang the year.
Thus they in verse alternate sang the year
For rabbit shy and listless ewe to hear,
Among the grey rocks on the mountain green
Beneath the sky in fair and pastoral scene,
Like those Sicilian swains, whose doric tongue
After two thousand years is ever young,—
Sweet the pine’s murmur, and, shepherd, sweet thy pipe,—
Or that which gentle Virgil, yet unripe,
Of Tityrus sang under the spreading beech
And gave to rustic clowns immortal speech,
By rocky fountain or on flowery mead
Bidding their idle flocks at will to feed,
While they, retreated to some bosky glade,
Together told their loves, and as they played
Sang what sweet thing soe’er the poet feigned:
But these were men when good Victoria reigned,
Poets themselves, who without shepherd gear
Each of his native fancy sang the year.