OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems and Lyrics of the Joy of Earth

POEMS AND LYRICS
OF
THE JOY OF EARTH
POEMS AND LYRICS
OF
THE JOY OF EARTH
BY
GEORGE MEREDITH
London
MACMILLAN AND CO.
1883
Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh.
INSCRIBED TO
JAMES COTTER MORISON
Antistans mihi milibus trecentis. :
WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
* The Shaving of Shagpat: An Arabian Entertainment.
* The Ordeal of Richard Feverel.
* Evan Harrington.
* Emilia in England.
* Vittoria.
* Beauchamp's Career.
* The Egoist.
&c. &c.
Forthcoming Publications in Verse.
* Poems.
* The Sentimentalists: A Comedy.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
SONNETS.
PAGE
Phoebus with Admetus.
The measure runs:
 – ⏑ – ⏑ – – ⏑ –́ –́ –́
Melampus.
Love in the Valley:
Trochaic, variable in short syllables according to stress of the accent.
A sketch of this poem appeared in a volume published many years back, now extinct.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Poems and Extracts/To the Lady Mary Lowther

To the Lady Mary Lowther
Lady, I rifled a Parnassian Cave (But seldom trod) of mildly-gleaming ore; And cull'd, from sundry beds, a lucid store Of genuine crystals, pure as those that pave The azure brooks where Dian joys to lave Her spotless limbs; and ventured to explore Dim shades—for reliques, upon Lethe's shore, Cast up at random by the sullen wave. To female hands the treasures were resign'd And lo! this work—a grotto bright—and clear 10 From stain or taint, in which thy blameless mind May feed on thoughts tho' pensive not austere; And if thy deeper spirit be inclined To holy musings, it may enter here.
————Wm Wordsworth
Rydal Mount Dec. 21, 1819.
# Poems and Extracts/To the young Lady Lucy Sydney

To the young Lady Lucy Sydney.
Why came I so untimely forth
Into a world which, wanting thee,
Could entertain us with no worth.
Or shadow of felicity?
That time should me so far remove
From that which I was born to love.
Yet, fairest Blossom! do not slight
That age which you may know so soon;
The rosy morn resigns her light
And milder splendors to the noon:10
If such thy dawning beauty's power
Who shall abide its noon-tide hour?
Hope waits upon the flowery prime;
And summer though it be less gay.
Yet is not look'd on as a time
Of declination or decay;
For with a full hand she doth bring
All that was promised by the spring.
Waller.
# Poems and Extracts/Where is that World to which the fancy flies

This extract is the first lines of The Musselmans's Dream of the Vizier and Dervis.
Where is that World to which the fancy flies When sleep excludes the Present from our eyes; Whose map no voyager could e'er design, Nor to description its wild parts confine? Yet such a Land of Dreams, we must allow, Who nightly trace it, though we know not how: Unfetter'd by the days obtruded rules. We all enjoy that Paradise of fools; And find a sorrow in resuming sense, Which breaks some free delight, and snatches us from thence.10
# Poems and Extracts/Written it is believed, by Miss Warton on the Death of her Father Thomas Warton the Elder

(Written, it is believed, by Miss Warton on the Death of her Father Thomas Warton the Elder)
Accept, O sacred shade, this artless verse,
And kindly, O ye mourning friends, forbear,
To rend disdaining from his decent herse.
All I can give except the tender tear.
He must not lie in his cold grave, among
Poor shrieking ghosts, unpraised, unwept, unsung.
Ah! where was I when fiercely-frowning Death,
With brandished dart stood at still mid)iight nigh,
Why came I not to catch his dying breath
And close with trembling hand thy languid eye?
On my sad breast to lay thy drooping head,11
And bathe with tears thy hand so cold and dead?
Thee do I view in yonder flying cloud?
Or do I hear thee in the hollow wind?
Or dost thou still sleep in thy sable shroud,
Where the dread judgment-trumpet thee shall find?
O till that day ye pitying angels come,
Shield with your wings, and sing around his tomb.
But if advanced to Heaven's empyreal height.
Above with glorious martyrVl saints to live20
Midst heavenly hymns, and harps and visions bright
And all the joys a smiling God can give;
O be my watchful guardian angel still,
Save me from slavish vice, from folly, and from ill.
# Poems (Hoffman)/The Spirit of Poesy

POEMS
# Poems (Eckley)/The Alps' "Te Deum"

Mer de Glace, 1861.
# Poems (Eckley)/The Broken Lute

Lucca, 1859.
# Poems (Eckley)/The Dream

(A SONG.) "Oh! the dream within the dream."
# Poems (Eckley)/The "Barba Gianni"

Casa Webb, Lucca.
# Poems (Eckley)/The Alps' Cathedral

Courmajeur, 1861.
# Poems (Eckley)/The Arab's Grave

Thebes, Feb., 1857.
# Poems (Eckley)/The Avalanche

SWITZERLAND.
SWITZERLAND.
N.B. An avalanche had occurred in the February previous, and the travelling merchant, who had started from the Hospice with three other men, perished, and their bodies were not discovered until the following August.
Hospice of the Great St. Bernard, 1836.
# Poems (Eckley)/The Bride of Christ

Rome, 1838.
# Poems (Eckley)/The Death of Summer

Bagni di Lucca, 1859.
# Poems (Rice)/City Incident

WRITTEN AT BOSTON.
# Poems (Kimball)/The Flight of the Birds

Part II.
To my Nieces,
JEANIE, MARY, AND EDITH.
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in Forget Me Not, 1828/The Sister's Dream

THE SISTER’S DREAM
Painted by H. CorbouldEngraved by S. Davenport
Taken from The Mercury, 13th May 1828
THE SISTER'S DREAM.
By Mrs Hemans.
She sleeps!—but not the free and sunny sleep  That lightly on the brow of childhood lies, Though happy be her rest, and soft, and deep,  Yet, ere it sank upon her shadow'd eyes, Thoughts of past scenes and kindred graves o'erswept Her soul's meek stillness—she had pray'd and wept.
And now in visions to her couch they come,  The early lost—the beautiful—the dead— That unto her bequeathed a mournful home,  Whence with their voices all sweet laughter fled: They rise—the sisters of her youth arise, As from the world where no frail blossom dies.
And well the sleeper knows them not of earth,  Not as they were when binding up the flowers Telling wild legends, round the winter hearth,  Braiding their long fair hair for festal hours; These things are past;— a spiritual gleam, A solemn glory, robes them in that dream.
Yet, if the glee of life's fresh budding years,  In those pure aspects may no more be read, Thence, too, hath sorrow melted—and the tears  Which o'er their mother's holy dust they shed Are all effaced;—there earth has left no sign, Save its deep love, still touching every line.
But oh! more soft, more tender, breathing more  A thought of pity than in vanish'd days; While, hovering silently and brightly o'er  The lone one's head, they meet her spirit's gaze With their immortal eyes, that seem to say, "Yet, sister!—yet we love thee—come away!"
'Twill fade, the radiant dream!—and will she not,  Wake with more painful yearning at her heart Will not her home seem still a lonlier spot,
 Her tasks more sad, when those bright shadows part? And the green summer after them look dim, And sorrow's tone be in the bird's wild hymn?
But let her hope be strong! and let the dead  Visit her soul in heaven's calm beauty still! Be their names uttered, be their memory spread  Yet round the place they never more may fill! All is not over with earth's broken tie— Where, where should sisters love, if not on high?
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in Forget Me Not, 1829/Lights and Shades

From The Museum of Foreign Literature and Science, Vol. 13, December 1828, page 707
The Forget Me Not, page 120
LIGHTS AND SHADES.
The gloomiest day hath gleams of light;
 The darkest wave hath bright foam near it;
And twinkles through the cloudiest night
 Some solitary star to cheer it.
The gloomiest soul is not all gloom;
 The saddest heart is not all sadness;
And sweetly o'er the darkest doom
 There shines some lingering beam of gladness.
Despair is never quite despair;
 Nor life, nor death, the future closes;
And round the shadowy brow of Care,
 Will Hope and Fancy twine their roses.
F. H.
Lights and Shades was set to music by E. F. Nielsen as a vocal trio (S. A. B.). Included in The Sacred Musical Offering , C. H. Purday, 1832.
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in Forget Me Not, 1829/The Sculptured Children

From The Museum of Foreign Literature and Science, Vol. 13, December 1828, page 689
The Forget Me Not, page 11
From the Forget Me Not.
THE SCULPTURED CHILDREN, On Chantrey's Monument at Litchfield.
By MRS. HEMANS.
Thus lay
The gentle babes, thus girdling one another
Within their alabaster innocent arms.
Shakspeare.
Fair images of sleep!
 Hallow'd, and soft, and deep!
On whose calm lids the dreamy quiet lies,
 Like moonlight on shut bells
 Of flowers in mossy dells,
Fill'd with the hush of night and summer skies;
 How many hearts have felt
 Your silent beauty melt
Their strength to gushing tenderness away!
 How many sudden tears,
 From depths of buried years
All freshly bursting, have confess'd your sway!
 How many eyes will shed
 Still, o'er your marble bed,
Such drops, from Memory's troubled fountains wrung!  While Hope hath blights to bear,
 While Love breathes mortal air,
While roses perish ere to glory sprung.
 Yet, from a voiceless home,
 If some sad mother come
To bend and linger o'er your lovely rest;
 As o'er the cheek's warm glow,
 And the soft breathings low
Of babes, that grew and faded on her breast;
 If then the dovelike tone
 Of those faint murmurs gone,
O'er her sick sense too piercingly return;
 If for the soft bright hair,
 And brow and bosom fair,
And life, now dust, her soul too deeply yearn;
 O gentlest forms! entwin'd
 Like tendrils, which the wind
May wave, so clasp'd, but never can unlink;
 Send from your calm profound
 A still small voice, a sound
Of hope, forbidding that lone heart to sink.
 By all the pure, meek mind
 In your pale beauty shrined,
By childhood's love—too bright a bloom to die!
 O'er her worn spirit shed,
 O fairest, holiest Dead!
The Faith, Trust, Light, of Immortality!
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in Forget Me Not, 1828/Evening Song of the Tyrolese Peasants

This was set to music by Felicia’s sister, Miss Harriet Browne. Here taken from Felicia Hemans Collected Poems, 1872
EVENING SONG OF THE TYROLESE PEASANTS.
* ↑ "The loved hour of repose is striking. Let us come to the sunset tree."—See Captain Sherer's interesting Notes and Reflections during a Ramble in Germany.
* ↑ " Wohl ihm, er ist hingegangen Wo kein schnee mehr ist" Schiller's Nadowessiche Todtenklage
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in Forget Me Not, 1829/The Spell

From The Museum of Foreign Literature and Science, Vol. 13, December 1828, page 725
The Forget Me Not, page 180
From the Forget Me Not.
THE SPELL.
There's such a glory on thy cheek,
 And such a magic power around thee,
That, if I would, I could not break
 The spell with which thine eyes have bound me.
Though all my stubborn heart rebel
 Against the thraldom of thy frown,
The tameless spirit thou canst quell,
 And keep the bursting madness down.
I vainly struggle to be free;
 I rouse that withering pride in vain,
Whose blight might change my love for thee
 To fiery hate, or cold disdain.
I loathe my very soul, that bears
 To drink thy poisonous love-draughts up,
Until my frenzied spirit swears
 To dash to earth the dazzling cup.
Yet every effort of my heart
 To cast thee off but draws thee nearer;
And rage and agony impart
 A venom-charm, that makes thee dearer. F. H.
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in Friendship's Offering, 1826

This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
This work is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
The person who associated a work with this deed has dedicated the work to the public domain by waiving all of their rights to the work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law. You can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
Poems of Felicia Hemans in Friendship’s Offering, 1826
compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* A Monarch's Death-Bed
* The Child's Last Sleep
* To an Infant
* The Last Wish
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in Forget Me Not, 1828/The Ivy of Kenilworth

Taken from a review in The Monthly Repository of Theology and General Literature, 1837
"The Ivy of Kenilworth.
Heard'st thou what the Ivy sigh'd,
Waving where all else had died,
In the place of regal mirth,
Now the silent Kenilworth?
With its many-glistering leaves,
There a solemn robe it weaves;
And a voice is in each fold,
Like an oracle's of old.
Heard'st thou, while with dews of night
Shone its berries darkly bright?
Yes! the whisperer seem'd to say,
'All things—all things pass away!
'Where I am, the harp hath rung
Banners and proud shields among,
And the blood-red wine flow'd free,
And the fire shot sparks of glee.
'Where I am, now last and lone,
Queenly steps have come and gone;
Gorgeous masques have glided by,
Unto rolling harmony.
'Flung from these illumin'd towers.
Light hath pierced the forest bowers;
Lake, and pool, and fount, have been
Kindled by their midnight sheen.
'Where is now the feasting high?
Where the lordly minstrelsy?
Where the tourney's ringing spear?
I am sole and silent here!
'In my home no hearth is crown'd,
Through my halls no wine foams round,
By my gates hath ceas'd the lay—
All things—all things pass away!'
Yes! thy warning voice I knew,
Ivy! and its tale is true:
All is passing, or hath pass’d—
Thou thyself must perish last!
Yet my secret soul replied,
'Surely one thing shall abide;
'Midst the wreck of ages, one,—
Heaven's eternal Word alone!'"
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in Friendship's Offering, 1826/A Monarch's Death-bed

A MONARCH'S DEATH-BED.
The Emperor Albert First, assassinated by his nephew, John, surnamed the Parricide, expired on the banks of the river Reuss, in the field afterwards called Königsfelden, supported only by a female peasant, who was accidentally passing at the time.
A monarch in his death-pangs lay—
 Did censers breathe perfume,
And soft lamps pour their silvery ray,
 Through his proud chamber's gloom?—
He lay upon a greensward bed,
 Beneath a darkening sky,
A lone tree waving o'er his head,
 A swift stream rolling by.
Had he then fallen as warriors fall,
 Where spear strikes fire with spear? Was there a banner for his pall,
 A buckler for his bier?
Not so:—nor cloven shields nor helms
 Had strewn the bloody sod,
Where he, the helpless lord of realms,
 Yielded his soul to God!
Were there not friends with words of cheer,
 And princely vassals nigh?
And priests, the crucifix to rear
 Before the fading eye?—
A peasant girl that royal head
 Upon her bosom laid,
And, shrinking not for woman's dread,
 The face of death surveyed.
Alone she sat:—from hill and wood
 Red sank the mournful sun;
Fast gushed the fount of noble blood,
 Treason its worst had done.
With her long hair she vainly prest
 The wounds, to staunch their tide;—
Unknown, on that meek, humble breast,
 Imperial Albert died! F. H.
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in Forget Me Not, 1829/To the Sea

From The Museum of Foreign Literature and Science, Vol. 13, December 1828, page 710
The Forget Me Not, page 144
From the Forget Me Not.
TO THE SEA.
Thou glorious sea! more pleasing far
 When all thy waters are at rest,
And noonday sun or midnight star
 Is shining on thy waveless breast.
More pleasing far, than when the wings
 Of stormy winds are o'er thee spread,
And every billowy mountain flings
 Aloft to heaven its foaming head.
Yet is the very tempest dear,
 Whose mighty voice but tells of thee;
For, wild or calm, or far or near,
 I love thee still, thou glorious sea! F. H.
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in Forget Me Not, 1829

This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
This work is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
The person who associated a work with this deed has dedicated the work to the public domain by waiving all of their rights to the work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law. You can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
Poems of Felicia Hemans in Forget Me Not, 1829
compiled from another source by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* The Sculptured Children
* Lights and Shades
* To the Sea
* The Spell
# Poems (Shipton)/The Exceeding Good Land

THE EXCEEDING GOOD LAND.
"Give me a blessing; for thou hast given me a south land: give me also springs of water."—Judges i. 15. "The Lord, He it is that doth go before thee; He will be with thee, He will not fail thee, neither forsake thee: fear not, neither be dismayed."—Deut. xxxi. 8. "The Lord your God hath given you rest, and hath given you this land."—Joshua i. 13.
# Poems (Shipton)/The Fourth Watch

THE FOURTH WATCH.
Many waters cannot quench love; neither can the floods drown it. Sol. Song viii. 7.
# Poems (Shipton)/The Day Laborer

THE DAY LABORER.
"In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thine hand: for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, either this or that, or whether they both shall be alike good."—Eccles. xi. 6.
# Poems (Shipton)/The Finger of God

THE FINGER OF GOD.
"God sent not His Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through Him might be saved."—John iii. 17. "Never man spake like this Man."—John vii. 46.
# Poems (Shipton)/The Flight of the Dove

THE FLIGHT OF THE DOVE.
"Who are these that fly as a cloud, and as the doves to their windows?"—Isaiah lx. 8.
# Poems (Shipton)/The Door of the Sepulchre

THE DOOR OF THE SEPULCHRE.
Blessed is the people that know the joyful sound: they shall walk, Lord, in the light of Thy countenance."—Ps. lxxxix. 15.
# Poems (Shipton)/The Dying Thief

THE DYING THIEF.
"Behold the Man!"—John xix. 5.
# Poems (Shipton)/The Exceeding Riches of His Grace

"THE EXCEEDING RICHES OF HIS GRACE."
"They shall see His face; and His name shall be in their foreheads."—Rev. xxii. 4.
A beloved servant of the Lord, now gone from our midst, was overheard repeating softly to himself, "I shall have grace even for that." His brother, supposing that he was meditating on the near approach of release from his sufferings, quoted the twenty-third Psalm. "Oh," replied the happy saint cheerfully, "I was not thinking of death, but of seeing the Lord Jesus! I shall gaze in His face, and then I shall fall at His feet, and He will stoop and raise me to His breast; and I shall have grace even for that."
# Poems (Shipton)/The Dream of Heaven

THE DREAM OF HEAVEN.
"I sleep but my heart waketh. It is the voice of my Beloved. Sol. Song v. 2.
# Poems (Truesdell)/The Indian's Bride

[I remember, when a child, reading an account of an Indian Chief, who went from America to England, and married the fair daughter of an English house. She is represented as approaching the altar with the greatest enthusiasm.]
# Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 2/A Poet's Epitaph

IV.
A POET'S EPITAPH.
Art thou a Statesman, in the van Of public business trained and bred? —First learn to love one living man; Then mayst thou think upon the dead.
A Lawyer art thou?—draw not nigh; Go, carry to some other place The hardness of thy coward eye, The falsehood of thy sallow face.
Art thou a Man of purple cheer? A rosy Man, right plump to see? Approach; yet, Doctor, not too near; This grave no cushion is for thee.
​Art thou a man of gallant pride, A Soldier, and no man of chaff? Welcome!—but lay thy sword aside, And lean upon a Peasant's staff.
Physician art thou? One, all eyes, Philosopher! a fingering slave, One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave?
Wrapt closely in thy sensual fleece O turn aside,—and take, I pray, That he below may rest in peace, That abject thing, thy soul, away!
—A Moralist perchance appears; Led, Heaven knows how! to this poor sod: And He has neither eyes nor ears; Himself his world, and his own God;
One to whose smooth-rubbed soul can cling Nor form, nor feeling, great nor small; A reasoning, self-sufficing thing, An intellectual All in All!
​Shut close the door; press down the latch; Sleep in thy intellectual crust; Nor lose ten tickings of thy watch Near this unprofitable dust.
But who is He, with modest looks, And clad in homely russet brown? He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own.
He is retired as noontide dew, Or fountain in a noon-day grove; And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.
The outward shows of sky and earth, Of hill and valley, he has viewed; And impulses of deeper birth Have come to him in solitude.
In common things that round us lie Some random truths he can impart, —The harvest of a quiet eye That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
​But he is weak, both Man and Boy, Hath been an idler in the land; Contented if he might enjoy The things which others understand.
—Come hither in thy hour of strength; Come, weak as is a breaking wave! Here stretch thy body at full length; Or build thy house upon this grave.
# Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 2/Advance—come forth!

VIII.
Advance—come forth from thy Tyrolean ground Dear Liberty!—stern Nymph of soul untamed, Sweet Nymph, Oh! rightly of the mountains named! Through the long chain of Alps from mound to mound And o'er the eternal snows, like Echo, bound,— Like Echo, when the Hunter-train at dawn Have rouzed her from her sleep: and forest-lawn, Cliffs, woods, and caves her viewless steps resound And babble of her pastime!—On, dread Power, With such invisible motion speed thy flight, Through hanging clouds, from craggy height to height, Through the green vales and through the Herdsman's bower, That all the Alps may gladden in thy might, Here, there, and in all places at one hour.
# Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 2/Ah where is Palafox!

XXI.
1810.
Ah! where is Palafox? Nor tongue nor pen Reports of him, his dwelling or his grave! Does yet the unheard-of Vessel ride the wave? Or is she swallowed up—remote from ken Of pitying human nature? Once again Methinks that we shall hail thee, Champion brave, Redeemed to baffle that imperial Slave, And through all Europe cheer desponding men With new-born hope. Unbounded is the might Of martyrdom, and fortitude, and right. Hark, how thy Country triumphs!—Smilingly The Eternal looks upon her sword that gleams, Like his own lightning, over mountains high, On rampart, and the banks of all her streams.
# Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 1/Yew Trees

IV.
YEW-TREES.
There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, Which to this day stands single, in the midst Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore, Not loth to furnish weapons for the Bands Of Umfraville or Percy ere they marched To Scotland's Heaths; or Those that crossed the Sea And drew their sounding bows at Azincour, Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers. Of vast circumference and gloom profound This solitary Tree!—a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed. But worthier still of note Are those fraternal Four of Borrowdale, Joined in one solemn and capacious grove; Huge trunks!—and each particular trunk a growth ​Of intertwisted fibres serpentine Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved,— Nor uninformed with Phantasy, and looks That threaten the prophane;—a pillared shade, Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue, By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged Perennially—beneath whose sable roof Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked With unrejoicing berries, ghostly Shapes May meet at noontide—Fear and trembling Hope, Silence and Foresight—Death the Skeleton And Time the Shadow,—there to celebrate, As in a natural temple scattered o'er With altars undisturbed of mossy stone, United worship; or in mute repose To lie, and listen to the mountain flood Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caves.