Works

Aylmer's Garden, near the Lake. LAURENCE RABY and ESTELLE.

He:
Come to the bank where the boat is moor'd to the willow-tree low;
Bertha, the baby, won't notice, Brian, the blockhead, won't know.
...

'Then hey for boot and horse, lad!
And round the world away!
Young blood will have its course, lad!
And every dog his day!'
- C. Kingsley.


There's a formula which the west country clowns...

'Nec propter vitam vivendi perdere causas.'

Though the pitcher that goes to the sparkling rill
Too oft gets broken at last,
There are scores of others its place to fill...

Rest, and be thankful! On the verge
Of the tall cliff rugged and grey,
But whose granite base the breakers surge,
And shiver their frothy spray,
Outstretched, I gaze on the eddying wreath...

Oh, gaily sings the bird! and the wattle-boughs are stirr'd
And rustled by the scented breath of spring;
Oh, the dreary wistful longing! Oh, the faces that are thronging!...

Fytte I
By Wood and Wold
[A Preamble]

'Beneath the greenwood bough.'
- W. Scott.


Lightly the breath of the spring wind blows,
Though laden with faint perfume,...