Let none presume he stands so fast,
But that he may fall first or last:
The most confirm'd in grace
Stands in a slippr'y place:
He treads on ice, and if he take not care
Unto his steps, is down e're he's aware.

'Tis hard to keep a middle-way
'Twixt two extremes, and never stray,
Since to the worst, man's mind
By nature is inclind;
Each vertue hath two vices on both sides,
'Tis odds, that into one of them he slides.

So many snares, so many evils,
So many doubts, so many divels
Environ him about,

O COME , light borne on eastern gales,
And bid our sorrows cease:
With flow'rets crown our smiling Vales
Thou gentle Cherub Peace!
Efface the horrid marks of War;
Each private Grudge remove;
With Plenty load the rustic's Car,
And fill the Land with Love.

Happy the moment when we are seated in the palace, thou and I,
With two forms and with two figures but with one soul, thou and I.
The colors of the grove and the voice of the birds will bestow immortality
At the time when we come into the garden, thou and I.
The stars of heaven will come to gaze upon us;
We shall show them the moon itself, thou and I.
Thou and I, individuals no more, shall be mingled in ecstasy,
Joyful, and secure from foolish babble, thou and I.
All the bright-plumed birds of heaven will devour their hearts with envy

In days of yore when, free and unconfin'd,
Man rov'd at large, and his own Will was law,
No ties restrain'd his selfish savage Mind;
The Mighty kept the Weak in slavish awe.
Till some sagacious Soul, pervading thro' the whole,
To Harmony reduc'd each jarring string;
And now the tuneful Band obeys the Master's hand,
While Echo sounds responsive Church and King!

In these, our vain and motley modern times,
When Whim, not Reason blindly leads the way;
And Virtue's varnish covers o'er our crimes,
Abhorrent to the honest face of Day;

How comes it, Messieurs! that we see you wear
Hats, that so much out-swell your usual air?
Had fam'd Gertruydenburg beheld this size,
Th' enormous brims had spoke the wearers wise,
While, there, proud conq'rors heard your monarch pray,
And, roughly, clipp'd the pinions of his sway;
Then, lost to fortune, and disrob'd of fame,
They'd pass'd for modest cov'rings of your shame.
But, now, you land, triumphant, on our shore.
And Anna 's thunder has forgot to roar:
While, here, you, smartly, give your master law,

[ALFRED DE MUSSET]

On a beautiful day of Spring,
Attracted by the strange charm of mystery,
I followed a lonely alley-way.

The west breeze was sweet;
Blue was the sky,
While in the branches of a lime tree
Chirped a bird-mother feeding her little ones.

And there I discerned a thousand charms
In the poetic scene;
While two large brown eyes in amazement
Laughed down at me.

Above my head the chirping of the birdlings
Mingled with the song of the birds;
And ere I knew it, I passed on

When Charles's Horse, for want of Breath,
Like others fell a prey to Death,
No courtier dar'd to raise his head,
And tell the News, " that he was dead. "
At last they fix'd on Killigrew —
For what may not a Jester do?
A licens'd Wag, who, spite of Rule,
Will speak bold Truths and play the Fool,
And tell a Monarch to his face
His Horse is dead, if such the case.

In pride of War, when Heroes fall,
Then — Eloquence should grace the Pall;
In nervous Style their Worth proclaim;
And fix them on the rolls of Fame

The Albatross lives only on the borders of the earth.
It bathes its massive wings in the foam of the sea;
And it glides upon the waves without sinking.

It descends and mounts as the sea.
During lovely weather it is silent, but it cries during the tempest.

Like a dream suspended between sky and abyss
This bird neither flies nor swims.

Heavier than air, and lighter than the wave,
Bird-poet, bird-poet, this is thy lot! —

The sky threatens, the clouds burst
And suddenly the tempest rolls the waves
Like a very river ...

The storm becomes intensified;
The sea springs up, roaring, howling.

Then the tempest calms ... The waves flee,
And the torrent becomes only a little stream ...

Some drops of shining water sweetly sing,
And glide away like pearls among the leaves.

The sand beds become dry again and parched
As they were in the torrid days ...

But still one hears the sound of dripping water
Upon the dry woods and among the leaves.

Since she, by whom her people all live blest,
To sorrow's reign, has giv'n her ruling breast,
Grief should be loudly heard, as well as seen,
To noise his death, and mourn our widow'd queen.
The friends of Anna must not, silent, weep;
Of streams, 'tis said, the gentlest are most deep!
But grief is passion , and, where passion reigns,
Nature scorns decency, and breaks her chains:
Like some fierce wind-driv'n show'r, true grief appears;
'Tis but a breeze , that is allay'd, by tears .
She does, indeed, with sighs, and tears, complain,