English

A web I hear thou hast begun,
And know'st not when it may be done—
So death uncertain see ye fear—
For ever distant, ever near.

See'st thou the shuttle quickly pass—
Think mortal life is as the grass,—
An empty cloud—a morning dream—
A bubble rising on the stream.

The knife still ready to cut off
Excrescent knots that mar the stuff,
To stern affliction's rod compare—
'Tis for thy good, so learn to bear.

Too full a quill oft checks the speed
Of shuttle flying by the reed—

Even in the time of gods
they needed wine
to deceive others

Friend , stay your steps awhile before
You pass within the open door;
Bethink you in what manner you
Shall greet the host; consider, too,
How to a feast of all his best
The author here invites his guest,
To taste his meat and drink his wine,
On every dish to freely dine.
And, mind you, when you come to sit
Before the board whereon his wit
And wisdom are all spread to make
A meal for your mind's stomach's sake,
To bear yourself with dignity
And treat your host with courtesy.

If any dish before you placed

White clouds that change and pass,
And stars that shine awhile,
Dew water on the grass,
A fox upon a stile.

A river broad and deep,
A slow boat on the waves,
My sad thoughts on the sleep
That hollows out the graves.

The daughters of the nation,
With purpose great and grand,
To dreary isolation
Went out upon the land;
A national oblation,
This patriotic band.

The daughters of the nation
Went out at love's behest,
With firm determination
To settle in the west;
Through bush fire's desolation,
With babies at the breast.

Undaunted by the wild men,
Beyond protection's ken,
To where nor road nor line ran,
Glad went they with their men
To take the seal of sun-tan,
Beside their valiant men.

Dark ilexes above, dry sward below,
O'er which the flickering sunglobes come and go;
Beyond, the swooping valley roughed by lines
Ruled by the plough between the rows of vines;
O'er yellow sunburnt slopes the olives grey
Casting their rounded shadows; far away
A stately parliament of poised stone-pines;
Dark cypresses with golden balls bestrewn,
Each rocking to the breeze its solemn cone;
Dim mountains, veiled in dreamy mystery,
Sleeping upon the pale and tender sky;
And near, with softened shades of purple brown,

You'll ask, perhaps, wherefore I stay,
Loving so much, so long away.
O do not think 'twas I did part,
It was my body, not my heart;
For like a compass in your love
One foot is fixed and cannot move;
Th' other may follow the blind guide
Of giddy Fortune, but not slide
Beyond your service, nor dares venture
To wander far from you, the centre.

ST . M ICHAEL'S Mount , the tidal isle,
—In May with daffodils and lilies
Is kirtled gorgeously a while
—As ne'er another English hill is:
About the precipices cling
The rich renascence robes of Spring.

Her gold and silver, nature's gifts,
—The prodigal with both hands showers;
O not in patches, not in drifts
—But round and round a mount of flowers—
Of lilies and of daffodils,
The envy of all other hills.

And on the lofty summit looms
—The castle: None could build or plan it.

Come , friend,—her skein I also would unravel!
Art is not Nature lost in man's control,
But Nature's reminiscences of travel
Across the human soul.

Or 'tis a tidal river, that, each day,
Ebbing and flowing under cliff and tree,
With mutual and eternal interplay
Takes and gives back the sea.

“Of all the ploody liars o' the 'orld
Since Ananias' soul was sent to Hell
Aye; since rebel angels to its depths were hurl'd
This is the rankest lie e'er I heard tell!
You rascally, beggarly, scald, pragging knave
You prove yourself a liar and a fool
Lacking th' agility thy face to save
Thy lie thy headsmen is in place of tool!
You scurvy, lousy knave, do you not see
That when you lie you must not be found out.
Whereas your lie 's a lie so palpably
'Twould disgrace th' invention of a butcher's lout.