Front matter
THE LIBRARY
OF
LOS ANGELES
Introduction
<c THE future of poetry," says Matthew Arnold in that essay on the study of poetry which he wrote for Mr. T. H. Ward's " English Poets " — " the future of poetry is immense, because in poetry, where it is worthy of its high destinies, our race, as time goes on, will find an ever surer and surer stay. There is not a creed which is not shaken, not an accredited dogma which is not shown to be questionable, not a received tradition which does not threaten to dissolve. Our religion has materialized itself in fact, in the supposed fact ; it has attached its emotion to the fact, and now the fact is failing it. But for poetry the idea is everything ; the rest is a work of illusion, of divine illusion. Poetry attaches its emotion to the idea ; the idea is the fact. The strongest part of our religion to-day is its unconscious poetry."
Well, is not that a curiously elaborate way of saying — with something of the insistence of the school-master, too, his eagerness to explain himself— just what Aristotle has said perfectly once for all, for " there is more truth in Poetry than in History" ? And if this be so, as indeed we cannot doubt, truth, as Aristotle conceived it, including all real things, as joy and sorrow and beauty, such a book as " The Golden Treasury of English Lyric Poetry " should be really one of the most precious books in the world. Rather than any other anthology of English verse, it has been accepted for what it is, a sort of canon as it were of English poetry within which nothing of doubtful quality or achievement is to be found, a perfect chaplet of beautiful verses.
Amended here and there, added to and considered again and again as it has been from time to time, its perfection was implicit in the first edition, published strangely enough
vii viii Introduction
in the middle of the Victorian period, when any such choice might seem to have been particularly unfortunate, and indeed some of the fairest flowers of that chaplet have only been found since 1861, when the "Golden Treasury" was first published — the songs of Campion for instance, and his more or less anonymous contemporaries, whose verses Mr. Bullen was the first to offer us from the old Elizabethan song-books. But for the most part this anthology was almost perfect in its Catholicism as in its selection from the first, so that when such a discovery as that of Mr. Bullen was made it was easy to put the best of those verses into the place that seems to have been waiting for them.
How much we owe to the knowledge and taste of Tennyson in the making of this English anthology we shall never know for certain, but in his dedication to the late poet laureate, and in his introduction too, Mr. Palgrave has told us with a fine sincerity how deeply he was indebted to Tennyson for his "advice and assistance;" and in his " Personal Recollections " added to the present Lord Tennyson's " Life " of his father, he tells us more particularly what this assistance was : " I had put the scheme of my ' Golden Treasury ' before him," he writes, " during a walk near the Land's End in the late summer of 1860, and he had encouraged me to proceed, barring only any poems by himself from insertion in an anthology whose title claimed excellence for its contents. And at Christmastide following, the gathered materials, already submitted to the judgment of two friends of taste (one, the very able sculptor, T. Woolner, lately taken from us), were laid before Tennyson for final judgment. This judgment, in some very few cases then not followed, has been now (1891) carried out by omission of Constable's 'Diaphenia' (XV.), Sewell's 'Damon' (CLXIII.), and Shelley's ' Life of Life . . .,' about which Tennyson remarked, that it was one of those flights in which the poet ' seemed to go up, and burst.' Between Shakespeare's
Introduction ix
sonnets he hardly liked to decide, all were so powerful. With most by far of the pieces submitted he was already acquainted ; but I seem to remember more or less special praise of Lodge's ' Rosaline,' of ' My Love in Her Attire . . .,' and the ' Emigrant's Song,' by Marvell. . . . After reading Cowper's 'Poplar Field' (CXLIII.), (Tennyson said), ' People now-a-days, I believe, hold this style and metre light ; I wish there were any who could put words together with such exquisite flow and evenness.' Presently we reached the same poet's stanzas, ' To Mary Unwin ' (CLXII.). He read them, yet could barely read them, so deeply touched was he by their tender, their almost agonizing pathos. And once when I asked him for the ' Lines on my Mother's Portrait,' his voice faltered as he said he would, if I wished it ; but he knew he should break down. . . . Resuming Tennyson's 'Golden Treasury' comments, . . . another little poem greatly moved him — perhaps he was not very familiar with it— Scott's 'Maid of Neidpath' (CXCVL). This also he read, adding after the last stanza, 'almost more pathetic than a man has the right to be. . . .' Tennyson was much struck by the plain force of Byron's ' Elegy on Thyrza,5 and Moore's ' Light of other Days ' (CCXXV.), saying of the last, ' O si sic omniaJ' In Wolfe's noble ' Burial of Sir John Moore ' (CCXVIII.), he wished the last line but two could be changed ; at the close of Hood's 'Bridge of Sighs' (CCXXX1.), 'Her evil behaviour' was a slight defect in that masterpiece. And the infelicitous ' mermaid's song condoles ' of the ' Battle of the Baltic,' tempted him to a ' How easily could a little blot like this be cured, if we had but Tom Campbell in the room to point it out to him ! ' adding, however, a tale how Rogers had done the same office for another poem, and how Campbell had bounced out of the room with a ' Hang it ! I should like to see the man who would dare to correct me ! ' ''
In turning the pages of the " Golden Treasury " over and x Introduction
over in many lands, to make beautiful a weary stretch of the road or " when the small rain down doth rain," in the inn parlour, or by the fireside in the winter evenings, or best of all in the summer fields among the summer flowers, we come at last to consider what there is after all that is omitted here which should certainly have a place. How little it is we scarcely realize, till we have reasoned why such and such a beautiful verse has been passed by ; so that it is easier to say, "this should have been left out perhaps," than to say, "this certainly should have been admitted." And yet we miss at the very beginning the sweet naive voice of Chaucer, full of " feeling " certainly and passionate too, in such a poem as this —
Hide, Absolon, thy gilte tresses clere ; Ester, lay thou thy meekness all a-doun ; Hide, lonathas, all thy friendly manere; Penalopee and Mercia catoun, Make of your wife-hood no comparisoun ; Hide ye your beauties, Isoude and Eleyne : My lady cometh, that all this may disteynel
Thy faire body, let it not appere
And Polixene, that boughten love so dere,
And Cleopatre, with all thy passioun,
Hide ye your trouthe of love and your renoun ;
And thou, Tisbe, that hast of love such peyne :
My lady cometh, that all this may disteyne I
And Canace espied by thy chere,
Maketh of your trouth neither boast nor soun
Nor Ypermistre or Adriane, ye tweyne :
My lady cometh, that all this may disteyne !
Nor do I find that so difficult to understand as " To a Field-Mouse" (CXLIV.) or " Duncan Gray" (CLIII.) ; it is hard to understand why it was passed over, so that there
Introduction xi
is no poem here by the Father of English Poetry. It would have been as hard to understand the omission of Spenser's " Epithalamion," but that Mr. Palgrave has explained to us that he did not consider it " in harmony with " mid-Victorian manners. Happily manners have changed much since mid- Victorian times, and we may all now read the "Epithalamion" without being expected to blush. Such a provincialism as that excuse for the omission of the lovliest love song in the language is one real blot in this book. The same mid- Victorian "manners" probably excluded Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress," a passionate and beautiful song that Tennyson loved well enough, for we read of his " special admiration" of it ; " delighting to read," Mr. Palgrave tells us in those " Personal Recollections" quoted above, " delighting to read with a voice hardly yet to me silent, and dwelling more than once on the magnificent hyperbole, the powerful union of pathos and humour in the lines. . . ."
And that it seems to me is almost all there is to say by way of criticism : and while every man will of course prefer to make his own anthology, in which " the best " will be the best beloved, no one has been able to make an anthology that has been so generally received by Englishmen as in itself almost a work of art, as really fulfilling precisely its promise to be the Golden Treasury of the best songs and lyrical poems in the English language.
E. H.
The following is a list of the works of F. T. Palgrave : —
Preciosa, a tale, 1852; Idyls and Songs, 1854; The Work* of Alfred de Musset (Oxford Essays), 1855; The Passionate Pilgrim (prose), 1858; The Golden Treasury, 1861 (second series, 1896); Memoir oi dough (with edition of poems), 1862 ; Handbook t» the Fine Art Collection in international Exhibition, 1862 ; Edition of Shakespeare's poems, 1865; Essays on Art, 1866; Biographical and Critical Memoir of Scott (prefixed to poems), 1866 ; Hymns, 1867; Five Days' Entertainments at Wentworth Grange (Stories for Children), 1868; Lyrical Poems, 1871; A Lyme Garland: verses mainly written at Lyme Regis, etc., 1874; The Children's Treasury of English Song, 1875 ; Chrysomela (selections from Herrick), 1877 ; Visions of England (verse), 1881 ; Selections from Tennyson, 1885 ; Ode for the 2ist June 1887; Treasury of Sacred Song, 1889; Amenophis and other Terse, 1892; Landscape in Poetry (Oxford Lectures), 1897.
Book First Pack
PAGB
i Spring ....
i
32 The Life witnout Passic*
ao
2 Summons to Love. . .
X
33 The Lover's Appeal . .
3 Time and Love
34 The Nightingale . . .
4 Since Brass, nor Stone . .
35 Care- charmer Sleep .
5 The Passionate Shepherd
6 A Madrigal ....
37 Love's Farewell ...
7 Under the Greenwood Tree .
38 To his Lute ....
8 It was a Lover and his Lass .
39 Blind Love ....
9 Present in Absence . .
40 The Unfaithful Shepherdess .
10 Absence ....
41 A Renunciation . . .
ii How like a Winter . .
42 Blow, Blow, thou Winter Wind
12 A Consolation . . .
13 The Unchangeable . .
44 Dirge of Love
2>
14 To me, fair Friend . .
15 Diaphenia ....
46 A Sea Dirge ....
16 Rosaline ....
II 47 A Land Dirge
17 Colin
48 Post Mortem
49 The Triumph of Death .
20 Love's Perjuries . .
51 Cupid and Campaspe . .
H
52 Pack, Clouds, Away .
3'
22 To Aurora ....
3*
23 True Love ....
54 The Happy Heart .
24 A Ditty ....
55 ThisLife, which seems so Fair
3«
25 Love's Omnipresence . .
56 Soul and Body
3»
26 Carpe Diem ....
57 Life
27 Winter ....
58 The Lessons of Nature .
4<>
28 That Time of Year .
59 Doth then the World go thus .
29 Remembrance . .
60 The World's Way .
30 Revolutions ....
61 Saint John Baptist . .
31 Farewell ....
BOOK SECOND 62 Ode on the Nativity
71 On his Blindness .
63 Song for St. Cecilia's Day
72 Character of a Happy Life
64 Late Massacre in Piedmont .
73 The Noble Nature
65 Cromwell's Return from Ireland
74 The Gifts of God . . .
75 The Retreat
67 Tombs in Westminster Abbey
76 To Mr. Lawrence . .
68 The Last Conqueror
77 To Cyriack Skinner . .
69 Death the Leveller
78 Hymn to Diana ...
70 The Assault ....
79 Wishes for Supposed Mistress
XIV
Contents
80 The Great Adventurer
81 Child and Maiden .
82 Counsel to Girls .
83 To Lucasta .
84 Elizabeth of Bohemia
85 To the Lady Margaret Ley
86 The Loveliness of Love .
87 The True Beauty . .
88 To Dianeme . .
89 Go, Lovely Rose .
90 To Celia ...
91 Cherry- Ripe
92 The Poetry of Dress
93 Whenas in Silks my Julia goes
94 My Love at her Attire
95 On a Girdle .
96 To Anthea .
97 Love not me for Comely Grace
98 Not, Celia, that I juster am .
117 Ode on Vicissitude .
118 Solitude . . . j 19 The Blind Boy
120 On a Favourite Cat .
121 To Charlotte Pulteney .
122 Rule, Britannia .
123 The Bard
124 Ode written in MDCCXLVI
125 Lament for Culloden
126 Lament for Flodden
127 The Braes of Yarrow
128 Willy drowned in Yarrow
129 Loss of the Royal George
130 Black-Eyed Susan
131 Sally in our Alley
132 A Farewell . . .
133 If Doughty Deeds
134 To a Young Lady .
135 The Sleeping Beauty .
136 For ever, Fortune .
137 The Merchant . .
138 When Lovely Woman .
139 Ye Banks and Braes
140 The Progress of Poesy .
141 The Passions
166 Chapman's Homer
167 Ode on the Poets .
168 Love .
169 All for Love
170 The Outlaw .
PAGE
PACK
• 71
99 To Althea from Prison .
• 73
oo To Lucasta ....
• 73
01 Encouragements to a Lover .
• 74
03 The Manly Heart . . .
04 Melancholy ....
. 76
05 To a Lock of Hair
• 77
06 Forsaken ....
»9
. 77
07 Fair Helen ....
. 78
08 The Twa Corbies .
. 78
09 To Blossoms ...
• 79
10 To Daffodils
9*
. 80
it Thoughts in a Garden . .
goes 80
. 80
13 11 Penseroso
. Si
14 Emigrants in Bermuda . .
115 At a Solemn Music . .
jrace 82
1 16 Alexander's Feast . .
BOOK THIRD . in
142 Ode on the Spring , .
. 112
143 The Poplar Field .
. "3
144 To a Field-Mouse ...
• "4
. "5
146 To Evening ....
. 116
. 117
148 Mary Morison
149 Bonnie Lesley
. 121
150 O my Luve's like a Red Rose .
. 122
151 Highland Mary ...
• 123
152 Auld Robin Gray . .
. 124
153 Duncan Gray ...
154 The Sailor's Wife .
. 127
155 Jean
'59
. 128
156 John Anderson .
1 60
. 130
157 The Land o' the Leal
1 60
• 131
158 Eton College
. 132
159 Hymn to Adversity
. 132
1 60 Solitude of Alexander Selkirk.
1 66
. 133
161 To Mary Unwin ...
. 133
162 To the Same
1 68
• 134
163 The Dying Man in his Garden
. 134
164 To-Morrow ....
• 135
165 Life ! I know not what thou art
. 138
BOOK FOURTH 171 None of Beauty's Daughters
. 172
172 Lines to an Indian Air .
1 80
• 173
173 She Walks in Beauty
• 177
174 She was a Phantom of Delight
• 177
175 She is not Fair . . .
Contents xv
PAGE
176 I fear thy Kisses . . .183
177 The Lost Love . . . 183
178 Among Unknown Men . . 183
179 The Education of Nature . 184
180 A Slumber did my Spirit seal 185
181 Lord Ullin's Daughter . . 185
182 Jock of Hazeldean . .187
183 Freedom and Love . . 188
184 Love's Philosophy . . 189
187 To the Evening Star . . 191
188 To the Night . . . 192
189 To a Distant Friend . . 193
190 When we Two Parted . . 194
191 Happy Insensibility . . 195
192 Where shall the Lover rest . 196
193 La Belle Dame Sans Merci . 197
195 The Flight of Love . . 199
198 Bright Star . . . 202
199 The Terror of Death . . 202
201 At the mid hour of Night . 203
202 Elegy on Thyrza . . . 204
203 One word is too often profaned 206
204 Song of Donald the Black . 207
205 A Wet Sheet . . .208
206 Ye Mariners of England . 209
207 Battle of the Baltic . . 210
208 Ode to Duty . . . 212
209 On the Castle of Chillon . 214
210 England and Switzerland . 215
211 The Venetian Republic . .215
212 London, MDCCCII . . . 216
214 When I have borne in memory 217
215 Hohenlihden . . .217
216 After Blenheim . . . 218
217 Pro Patria Mori . . . 220
218 Burial of Sir John Moore . 221
219 Simon Lee the old Huntsman 222
220 The Old Familiar Faces . 225
221 The Journey Onwards . . 226
222 Youth and Age . . . 227
224 Past and Present . . . 229
225 The Light of other Days . 230
226 Invocation . . . .231
227 Stanzas written in Dejection . 232
228 The Scholar .... 233
229 The Mermaid Tavern . . 234
230 The Pride of Youth . . 235
PACK
235 The Death Bed ... 241
237 On an Infant dying . . 243
238 The Affliction of Margaret . 245
239 Hunting Song . . . 248
240 To the Skylark ... 249
242 The Green Linnet . . . 253
243 To the Cuckoo . . .254
244 Ode to a Nightingale . . 255
245 Upon Westminster Bridge . 258
246 Ozymandias of Egypt . . 258
247 Neidpath Castle . . . 259
248 Admonition to a Traveller . 259
249 Highland Girl of Inversneyde. 260
251 The Reverie of Poor Susan . 263
252 To a Lady with a Guitar . 264
253 The Daffodils . . .267
254 To the Daisy ... 268
255 Ode to Autumn . . . 269
256 Ode to Winter . . . 270
257 Yarrow Unvisited . . . 272
258 Yarrow Visited ... 274
259 The Invitation ... 277
260 The Recollection . . . 279
262 To the Evening Star . . 282
263 Datur Hora Quieti . . 283
264 To the Moon . . . 283
265 A Widow Bird . . .284
267 The Soldier's Dream . . 285
268 A Dream of the Unknown . 286
269 The Inner Vision . . . 287
270 The Realm of Fancy . . 28.".
271 Hymn to the Spirit of Nature 290
272 Written in Early Spring . 291
275 Ode to the West Wind . . 306
276 Nature and the Poet . . 308
277 The Poet's Dream . .310
278 The World is too much with us 311
279 King's College Chapel . . 311
280 Youth and Age . . . 312
281 The Two April Mornings . 313
282 The Fountain . . . 315
283 The River of Life . . .318
284 The Human Seasons . . 319
286 My Heart leaps up . 320
288 Music, when soft Voices die . 326
I SPRING
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo !
The palm and may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay, Cuckoo, jug- jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo.
The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, In every street these tunes our ears do greet, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! Spring! the sweet Spring!
T. NASH
ii SUMMONS TO LOVE
Phoebus, arise!
And paint the sable skies
With azure, white, and red:
Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed
That she may thy career with roses spread:
The nightingales thy coming each where sing:
Make an eternal Spring!
Give life to this dark world which lieth dead;
Spread forth thy golden hair
A
2 Summons to Love
In larger locks than thou wast wont before
And emperor-like decore
With diadem of pearl thy temples fair:
Chase hence the ugly night
Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light.
—This is that happy morn,
That day, long-wished day
Of all my life so dark,
(If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn
And fates my hopes betray),
Which, purely white, deserves
An everlasting diamond should it mark.
This is the morn should bring unto this grove
My Love, to hear and recompense my love.
Fair King, who all preserves,
But show thy blushing beams,
And thou two sweeter eyes
Shalt see than those which by Peneus' streams
Did once thy heart surprize.
Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise:
If that ye winds would hear
A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre,
Your furious chiding stay;
Let Zephyr only breathe,
And with her tresses play.
— The winds all silent are,
And Phoebus in his chair
Ensaffroning sea and air
Makes vanish every star:
Night like a drunkard reels
Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels:
The fields with flowers are deck'd in every hue,
The clouds with orient gold spangle their blue;
Here is the pleasant place —
And nothing wanting is, save She, alas !
W. DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN
Time and Love
in TIME AND LOVE
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced The rich proud cost of out-worn buried age; When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed, And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, And the firm soil win of the watery main, Increasing store with loss, and loss with store;
When I have seen such interchange of state, Or state itself confounded to decay, Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate — That Time will come and take my Love away :
— This thought is as a death, which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose.
IV
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'ersways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower ?
O how shall summer's honey breath hold out Against the wreckful siege of battering days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays ?
O fearful meditation! where, alack!
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid ?
4 The Passionate Shepherd
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back, Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ?
O! none, unless this miracle have might, That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE
Come live with me and be my Love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dale and field, And all the craggy mountains yield.
There will we sit upon the rocks And see the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals.
There will I make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.
A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull, Fair lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold.
A belt of straw and ivy buds With coral clasps and amber studs : And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my Love.
Thy silver dishes for thy meat As precious as the gods do eat, Shall on an ivory table be Prepared each day for thee and me.
A Madrigal
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May-morning: If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my Love.
C. MARLOWE
VI A Madrigal
Crabbed Age and Youth
Cannot live together:
Youth is full of pleasance,
Age is full of care;
Youth like summer morn,
Age like winter weather,
Youth like summer brave,
Age like winter bare:
Youth is full of sport,
Age's breath is short,
Youth is nimble, Age is lame:
Youth is hot and bold,
Age is weak and cold,
Youth is wild, and Age is tame: —
Age, I do abhor thee,
Youth, I do adore thee;
O! my Love, my Love is young!
Age, I do defy thee —
O sweet shepherd, hie thee,
For methinks thou stay'st too long.
VII
Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat-
A Madrigal
Come hither, come hither, come hither!
Here shall he see
No enemy But winter and rough weather.
Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets — Come hither, come hither, come hither! Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.
VIII It was a lover and his lass
With a hey and a ho, and a hey-nonino! That o'er the green corn-field did pass In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing hey ding a ding:
Sweet lovers love the Spring.
Between the acres of the rye These pretty country folks would lie: This carol they began that hour, How that life was but a flower:
And therefore take the present time
With a hey and a ho and a hey-nonino! For love is crowned with the prime In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing hey ding a ding: Sweet lovers love the Spring.
Absence
IX Present In Absence
Absence, hear thou my protestation Against thy strength, Distance, and length; Do what thou canst for alteration:
For hearts of truest mettle Absence doth join, and Time doth settle.
Who loves a mistress of such quality,
His mind hath found
Affection's ground Beyond time, place, and all mortality.
To hearts that cannot vary Absence is present, Time doth tarry.
By absence this good means I gain, That I can catch her, Where none can watch her, In some close corner of my brain:
There I embrace and kiss her: And so enjoy her and none miss her.
ANON.
x ABSENCE
Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire ? I have no precious time at all to spend Nor services to do, till you require:
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end-hour Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, Nor think the bitterness of absence sour When you have bid your servant once adieu:
8 A Consolation
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, But like a sad slave, stay and think of nought Save, where you are, how happy you make those ;-
So true a fool is love, that in your will Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.
XI
How like a winter hath my absence been From Thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen, What old December's bareness everywhere!
And yet this time removed was summer's time: The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, Bearing the wanton burden of the prime Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease:
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit; For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, And, thou away, the very birds are mute;
Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer, That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.
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