FOR A COPY OF HERRICK MANY days have come and gone, Many suns have set and shone, HERRICK, since thou sang'st of Wake, Morris-dance and Barley-break ;— Many men have ceased from care, Many maidens have been fair, Since thou sang'st of JULIA's eyes, JULIA'S lawns and tiffanies;Many things are past: but thou, GOLDEN-MOUTH, art singing now, Singing clearly as of old, And thy numbers are of gold! ✔ WITH A VOLUME OF VERSE BOUT the ending of the Ramadán, When leanest grows the famished Mussulman, A haggard ne'er-do-well, Mahmoud by name, At the tenth hour to Caliph OMAR came. "Lord of the Faithful (quoth he), at the last The long moon waneth, and men cease to fast; Hard then, O hard! the lot of him must be, Who spares to eat . . . but not for piety!" "Hast thou no calling, Friend?"--the Caliph said. "Sir, I make verses for my daily bread.” "Verse!"-answered OMAR. ""Tis a dish, indeed, Whereof but scantily a man may feed. Go. Learn the Tenter's or the Potter's Art,— Verse is a drug not sold in any mart." I know not if that hungry Mahmoud died; BOUGHTON, had you bid me chant Nay, but where my hand must fail In the dark-beamed Council-Chamber. Only art like yours can touch Shapes so dignified . . and Dutch; Only art like yours can show How the pine-logs gleam and glow, Till the fire-light laughs and passes Then I come and write beneath, U TO A PASTORAL POET (H. E. B.) AMONG my best I put your Book, O Poet of the breeze and brook! (That breeze and brook which blows and falls More soft to those in city walls) Among my best: and keep it still Then I shall take your Book, and dream |