By the storm invaded
Ere thy arch was wrought,
Rainbow, thou hast faded
Like a gladsome thought,
And ne'er mayst shine aloft in all earth's colours fraught.

Insect tranced for ever
In thy pendent bed,
Which the breezes sever
From its fragile thread,
Thou ne'er shalt burst thy shell and crumpled pinions spread.

Lily born and nourished
'Mid the waters cold,
Where thy green leaves flourished,
On the sunburnt mould
How canst thou rear thy stem and sallow buds unfold?

See the bright stranger!
On wings of enchantment,
See how he soars!
Eagles! that high on the crest of the mountain,
Beyond where the cataracts gush from their fountain,
Look out o'er the sea and her glistering shores,
Cast your sun-gazing eyes on his pinions of light!
Behold how he glitters
Transcendantly bright!

Whither, ah whither,
To what lofty region
His course will he bend?
See him! O, see him! the clouds overtaking,
As tho' the green earth he were blithely forsaking;

Hell is a city much like London--
A populous and a smoky city;
There are all sorts of people undone,
And there is little or no fun done;
Small justice shown, and still less pity.

The Devil now knew his proper cue--
Soon as he read the ode, he drove
To his friend Lord MacMurderchouse's,
A man of interest in both houses,
And said: "For money or for love,

Pray find some cure or sinecure;
To feed from the superfluous taxes
A friend of ours--a poet--fewer
Have fluttered tamer to the lure
Than he'. His lordship stands and racks his

Stupid brains, while one might count
As many heads as he had boroughs--
At length replies; from his mean front,
Like one who rubs out an account,

I
Among the guests who often stayed
Till the Devil's petits-soupers.
A man there came, fair as a maid,
And Peter noted what he said,
Standing behind his master's chair.
II

He was a mighty poet--and
A subtle-souled psychologist;
All things he seemed to understand,
Of old or new--of sea or land--
But his own mind--which was a mist.
III

This was a man who might have turned
Hell into Heaven--and so in gladness
A Heaven unto himself have earned;
But he in shadows undiscerned
Trusted--and damned himself to madness.

Bunthorne

When I go out of door,
Of damozels a score
(All sighing and burning
And clinging and yearning)
Will follow me as before.
I shall, with cultured taste,
Distinguish gems from paste,
And " High diddle diddle "
Will rank as an idyll,
If I pronounce it chaste!
A most intense young man,
A soulful-eyed young man,
An ultra-poetical, super-aesthetical,

Prithee , pretty maiden — prithee tell me true,
(Hey but I'm doleful, willow willow waly!)
Have you e'er a lover a-dangling after you?
Hey willow waly O!
I would fain discover
If you have a lover?
Hey willow waly O!

Patience.

Gentle sir, my heart is frolicsome and free —

My banks they are furnish'd with bees,
Whose murmur invites one to sleep;
My grottoes are shaded with trees,
And my hills are white over with sheep.
I seldom have met with a loss,
Such health do my fountains bestow;
My fountains all border'd with moss,
Where the harebells and violets grow.

Not a pine in the grove is there seen
But with tendrils of woodbine is bound;
Not a beech's more beautiful green
But a sweetbriar entwines it around:
Not my fields in the prime of the year,
More charms than my cattle unfold;

Past 5.

Now witts prooue what yee can doe
I haue worke to set yee to:
That will trie the Quintessence
Of your humor's excellence
Tis no dreadefull Tragaedy
Nor no pleasant Comaedie,
Tis no fiction of a fancy
Nor a furie of a franzie,
But a subject of that worth,
That must bring strange wonders foorth
Yet take heede to flye to high,
Least you lose your winges thereby
Keepe your compasse in that care
That doth onely truth declare.
Where in safety of conceite,
Yee may winne your honor's height

Passion

Past 4

W E arie thoughts doe waite vpon me
Griefe hath to much ouer gone me
Time doth howerly ouer-toyle me,
While deepe sorrowes seeke to spoile me
Wit and sences all amazed
In their Graces ouer gazed:
In exceeding torments tell me,
Neuer such a death befell mee.
Loue, oh life of more tormenting
Then the world hath inuenting
Neuer ceizd vpon a creature
In a truer killing nature.
Not with Venus idle itching,
Nor with vaine affectes bewitching:
But with wit and reason's seeing