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Fear no more the frown o' the great,

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat ;

To thee the reed is as the oak; The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning flash

Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Fear not slander, censure rash ;

Thou hast finish'd joy and moan ; All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

STANZAS.

WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,

And finds too late that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy,

What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,

To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover

And wring his bosom, is—to die.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

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THAT which her slender waist confined
Shall now my joyful temples bind ;
No monarch but would give his crown,
His arms might do what this has done.

It was my heaven's extremest sphere,
The pale which held that lovely deer :
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Did all within this circle move.

A narrow compass ! and yet there
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair.
Give me but what this riband bound,
Take all the rest the sun goes round !

EDMUND WALLER.

SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT.

She was a Phantom of delight
When first she gleam'd upon my sight,
A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair ;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn ;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To hunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her, upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty ;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet ;
A Creature, not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food-
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine ;
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveller between life and death ;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;

A perfect Woman, nobly plann'd,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of an angel light.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON.

When Love, with unconfined wings,

Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair ;

And fetter'd with her eye,
The birds that wanton in the air

Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round

With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses crown'd,

Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,

When healths and draughts go freeFishes, that tipple in the deep

Know no such liberty.

When, linnet-like, confined I

With shriller note shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty

And glories of my king ;
When I shall voice aloud how good

He is, how great should be,

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