For of the noblest of the land By that dead pauper on the ground, MUTABILITY. - Shelley. We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon; Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings We rest, a dream has power to poison sleep; We rise,-one wandering thought pollutes the day; We feel, conceive, or reason, laugh or weep, Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away; for, be it joy or sorrow, The path of its departure still is free; * George the Third of England. ART thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a different birth,And ever-changing, like a joyless eye That finds no object worth its constancy? OF A CONTENTED MIND. WHEN all is done and said, In th' end thus shall you find: The sweetest time in all his life The body subject is To fickle Fortune's power, Is casual every hour; And death in time doth change It to a clod of clay; Whereas the mind, which is divine, Runs never to decay. Companion none is like Unto the mind alone; For many have been harmed by speech, – B Fear oftentimes restraineth words, Our wealth leaves us at death; The sweetest time of all my life THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.-Percy. It was a friar of orders gray Walked forth to tell his beads, And he met with a lady fair, Clad in a pilgrim's weeds. "Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar! I pray thee tell to me, If ever at yon holy shrine My truelove you did see.” "And how should I your truelove know From many another one?" "O, by his cockle hat and staff, And by his sandal shoon. "But chiefly by his face and mien, That were so fair to view; “O lady, he is dead and gone, Lady, he 's dead and gone! At his head a green grass turf, And at his heels a stone. "Within these holy cloisters long He languished, and he died Lamenting of a lady's love, And 'plaining of her pride. "Here bore him barefaced on his bier "And art thou dead, thou gentle youth? And art thou dead and gone? And didst thou die for love of me? "O, weep not, lady, weep not so! Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart, "O, do not, do not, holy friar, "And now, alas! for thy sad loss For thee I only wished to live, "Weep no more, lady, weep no more; For violets plucked the sweetest showers "Our joys as winged dreams do fly; "O, say not so, thou holy friar ; I pray thee, say not so! For since my truelove died for me, 'T is meet my tears should flow." 66 Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more, "Now say not so, thou holy friar, My love he had the truest heart; "And art thou dead, thou much loved youth? And didst thou die for me? Then farewell, home; for evermore A pilgrim I will be. "But first upon my truelove's grave My weary limbs I'll lay ; And thrice I'll kiss the green grass turf That wraps his breathless clay." |