noe:I thank the, Lord so dere, that wold vowchsayf
Thus low to appere to a symple knafe.
Blis vs, Lord, here for charite I hit crafe;
The better may we stere the ship that we shall hafe,
Certayn.
deus:Noe, to the and to thi fry
My blyssyng graunt I;
Ye shall wax and multiply
And fill the erth agane,
When all thise floodys ar past, and fully gone away.
[Exit Deus.

noe:Lord, homward will I hast as fast as that I may;
My wife will I frast what she will say,
And I am agast that we get som fray
Betwixt vs both,

I see trees breaking off their branches
I glimpse the branches fleeing toward the desert sands
I see a river expell its waters
I glimpse the branches fleeing toward the desert sands
I see a river beg for a drop of water.

No cloud, no relic of the sunken day
Distinguishes the west, no long thin slip
Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues.
Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge.
You see the glimmer of the stream beneath
But hear no murmuring: it flows silently
O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still,
A balmy night, and though the stars be dim
Yet let us think upon the vernal showers
That gladden the green earth, and we shall find
A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
And hark, the nightingale begins its song —

No cloud, no relic of the sunken day
Distinguishes the west, no long thin slip
Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues.
Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge.
You see the glimmer of the stream beneath
But hear no murmuring: it flows silently
O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still,
A balmy night, and though the stars be dim
Yet let us think upon the vernal showers
That gladden the green earth, and we shall find
A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
And hark, the nightingale begins its song —

By the blue Taper's trembling Light,
No more I waste the wakeful Night,
Intent with endless View to pore
The Schoolmen and the Sages o'er :
Their Books from Wisdom widely stray,
Or point at best the longest Way.
I'll seek a readier Path, and go
Where Wisdom's surely taught below .

How deep yon Azure dies the Sky!
Where Orbs of Gold unnumber'd lye,
While thro' their Ranks in silver pride
The nether Crescent seems to glide.
The slumb'ring Breeze forgets to breathe,
The Lake is smooth and clear beneath,

Spectators only on this bustling stage,
We see what vain designs mankind engage.
Vice after vice with ardour they pursue,
And one old folly brings forth twenty new.
Perplexed with trifles through the vale of life,
Man strives 'gainst man, without a cause for strife;
Armies embattled meet, and thousands bleed,
For some vile spot which cannot fifty feed.
Squirrels for nuts contend, and, wrong or right,
For the world's empire kings ambitious fight.
What odds? — to us 'tis all the self-same thing,

AN EPISTLE TO ROBERT LLOYD

When foes insult, and prudent friends dispense,
In pity's strains, the worst of insolence,
Oft with thee, Lloyd, I steal an hour from grief,
And in thy social converse find relief.
The mind, of solitude impatient grown,
Loves any sorrows rather than her own.
Let slaves to business, bodies without soul,
Important blanks in Nature's mighty roll,
Solemnize nonsense in the day's broad glare:
We Night prefer, which heals or hides our care.

My friend abruptly closed the book:
I felt as one who long had sailed
Gazing with anxious landward look, —
Who, just as the fair port is hailed,
And the rough prow goes dipping in,
Suddenly hears the anchor's din,
And, lo! the ship is at full stand:
There move the people on the land,
And there are voices from the beach,
But mournfully all out of reach.

My face the crowding questions wore:
He said, " A little patience yet,
And soon the landing skiff and oar

What light illumes the eagle's ken,
And flames his breast with Freedom's rage,
The first wild daring instant when
He soars beyond his broken cage!

How glows the lion's eye of fire,
Brighter than lit with midnight ire,
The moment when he sees the bar
Half drawn that leaves the door ajar!
How proudly he exalts his mane
That first hour on the open plain!

When from the winter's captive hold
The young spring takes the freedom won,

Oh, merry and good is a blooming wood
On a calm, clear afternoon,
When every maid, in a flowery hood,
Sings, as every maiden should
In the leafy shades of June: —
When every light form wears the proof
Of what beneath her homestead roof
The loom of Winter weaves, —
The blue, and green, and scarlet woof,
The white and flowing sleeves: —
When every archer bends his bow,
To bid the laughing arrow go