TO THE MEMORY OF ISABEL SOUTHEY, 269 That goodly thing it cleaveth to, so fondly and so fast, Is struck to earth by lightning, or shattered by the blast. 'T is ever thus, 't is ever thus, with beams of mor tal bliss, With looks too bright and beautiful for such a world as this; One moment round about us their angel lightnings play, Then down the veil of darkness drops, and all hath passed away. 'T is ever thus, 't is ever thus, with sounds too sweet for earth, Seraphic sounds, that float away (borne heavenward) in their birth ; The golden shell is broken, the silver chord is mute, The sweet bells all are silent, and hushed the lovely lute. "T is ever thus, - 't is ever thus, with all that 's best below, The dearest, noblest, loveliest, are always first to go; The bird that sings the sweetest, the pine that crowns the rock, The glory of the garden, the flower of the flock. "T is ever thus, 't is ever thus, with creatures heavenly fair, Too finely framed to 'bide the brunt more earthly creatures bear; A little while they dwell with us, blest ministers of love, Then spread the wings we had not seen, and seek their home above. 270 EMPLOYMEN I'. EMPLOYMENT.- George Herbert. IF, as a flower doth spread and die, The sweetness and the praise were thine; But the extension and the room, Which in thy garland I should fill, were mine At thy great doom. For as thou dost impart thy grace, The measure of our joys is in this place, Let me not languish, then, and spend As is the dust, to which that life doth tend, All things are busy; only I Neither bring honey with the bees, Nor flowers to make that, nor the husbandry To water these. I am no link of thy great chain, Lord, place me in thy concert, give one strain THE ISLES OF GREECE 271 THE ISLES OF GREECE. — Byron. THE isles of Greece! the isles of Greece The Scian and the Teian Muse, The mountains look on Marathon, I dreamed that Greece might still be free; A king sat on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations; - all were his! He counted them at break of day, And where are they? and where art thou, The heroic bosom beats no more! 272 THE ISLES of greECE. And must thy lyre, so long divine, 'T is something, in the dearth of fame, Must we but weep o'er days more blest? What, silent still? and silent all? Ah! no; the voices of the dead In vain, — in vain; strike other chords; And shed the blood of Scio's vine! You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one? THE ISLES OF GREECE You have the letters Cadmus gave, Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! It made Anacreon's song divine : He served but served Polycrates A tyrant; but our masters then Were still, at least, our countrymen. The tyrant of the Chersonese Was freedom's best and bravest friend; That tyrant was Miltiades! O, that the present hour would lend Another despot of the kind! Such chains as his were sure to bind. Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! Such as the Doric mothers bore ; Trust not for freedom to the Franks,- The only hope of courage dwells; Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! 273 |