Why, then you must.

Will you put out mine eyes?

These eyes, that never did, nor never shall
So much as frown on you?

Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it!
The iron of itself, though heat red hot,

Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears,
And quench his fiery indignation,

Even in the matter of my innocence :
Nay, after that, consume away in rust,
But for containing fire to harm my eye.

Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron?
And if an angel should have come to me,

And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believed him.

Oh! that there were a single mote in your's

A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,
Any annoyance in that precious sense!

Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there,
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.

EVENING IN PARADISE-ADAM'S CONVERSATION
WITH EVE.

Now came still evening on, and twilight gray
Had, in her sober livery, all things clad:
Silence accompanied; for beast and bird—
They to their grassy couch, these their nests-
Were sunk all, but the wakeful nightingale:
She, all night long, her amorous descant sung;
Silence was pleased. Now glowed the firmament
With living sapphires: Hesperus, that led
The starry host, rode brightest; till the moon,
Rising in clouded majesty, at length,—
Apparent queen! unveil'd her peerless light,
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.
"To-morrow, ere fresh morning streak the east
With first approach of light, we must be risen,
And at our pleasant labour; to reform
Yon flowery arbours, yonder alleys green,
Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown,
That mock our scant manuring, and require
More hands than ours to lop their wanton growth;
Those blossoms also, and those dropping gums,
That lie bestrown, unsightly and unsmooth,
Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease;
Meanwhile, as nature wills, night bids us rest.
To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorn'd :-
"My author and disposer! what thou bid'st,

Unargued I obey: so God ordains.

God is thy law; thou, mine: to know no more,
Is woman's happiest knowledge, and her praise!
With thee conversing, I forget all time,

All seasons and their change, all please alike.
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun,
When first, on this delightful land, he spreads
His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile earth,,
After soft showers; and sweet the coming on
Of grateful evening mild; then silent night,
With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon,
And these the gems of heaven, her starry train :—
But neither breath of morn, when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun
On this delightful land: nor herb, fruit, flower,
Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers;
Nor grateful evening mild, nor silent night,
With this her solemn bird; nor walk by noon
Or glittering starlight,-without thee, is sweet!"

MILTON.

INDEX.

Ah! whence yon glare

A little, 'tis a little word

All's for the best! be sanguine and cheerful
Angry looks can do no good

Answer me, burning stars of night-

As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean
A wet sheet and a flowing sea

Beautiful, sublime, and glorious

Behold! Palmyra's ruined palaces

Beside yon struggling fence that skirts the way
Between two worlds life hovers like a star -
Birds, joyous birds of the wandering wing
Blow, blow, thou winter wind

Faintly flow thou falling river
Fall'n is thy throne, O Israel
Father of all! who reign'st above

For man to tell how human life began
Freeborn and beautiful, the mountain
Friend after friend departs

Go, when the morning shineth

Hail, beauteous stranger of the wood

Hail! sovereign of the world of Floods! whose majesty
Hail to thee, blithe spirit!

Hark! whence that rushing sound

Have you a heart? When your head did but ache

He is the freeman, whom the truth makes free
High on a bright and sunny bed

How are thy servants bless'd, O Lord

How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh

How dear to my heart are the days of my childhood

How many thousand of my poorest subjects

How wonderful is Death

I am monarch of all I survey

I am old and blind

I climb'd the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn
Idler, why lie down to die-

If solitude hath ever led thy steps

I hear thee speak of a better land

I love it, I love it; and who shall dare

I love to look on a scene like this

It must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well
I remember, I remember

-

I wandered lonely as a cloud

It was a summer's evening

"Little by little," an acorn said

Lo! now the ways of heav'n's eternal King
Look on yonder earth

Morn is the time to wake

Nay, speak no ill! a kindly word

"Never give up!" 'tis the secret of glory

49

Not world on world in phalanx deep

22

Now came still evening on, and twilight gray

Oh! bless'd of heaven, whom not the languid songs

80

73

46

Oh! never chide the wing of time

O for a lodge in some vast wilderness

O maiden, heir of kings

O Thou! who dry'st the mourner's tear
Oh, water for me, bright water for me

Pause not to dream of the future before us

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean-roll !

Sleep, little baby! sleep

Slow passed the night, and now, with silver ray

PAGE

Some Water and Oil

Sound the the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea
Speak gently, it is better far

Spring! Spring! beautiful spring

4

Star of Morning! leave thy bed

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain

54

The deep affections of the breast

The King is come to marshal us, all in his armour drest

The Lord my pasture shall prepare

The month was August and the morning cool

The rich man's son inherits lands

The scene was more beautiful far to my eye

The shades of night were falling fast
The way was long, the wind was cold
There's a good time coming, boys
There is a flower, a little flower
There is a sunbeam beautifully shining
There is a tide in the affairs of men
There lives and works

The quality of mercy is not strained
There's not a leaf within the bower
There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream
These are thy glorious works, parent of good
These as they change, Almighty Father, these
This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling
This world is all a fleeting show
Though hard my daily labour
Thou art, O God! the life and light
Those evening bells! those evening bells
To be, or not to be-that is the question
Tread softly-bow the head

Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky

28

Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside

14

'Twas the glorious dawn of a sweet spring day

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower -
We watched her breathing through the night
Well might the thoughtful race of old