Part 26 (1/2)

xxxIX ON A LOCK OF MILTON'S HAIR

LEIGH HUNT--1784-1859

It lies before me there, and h beside The living head I stood in honor'd pride, Talking of lovely things that conquer death

Perhaps he press'd it once, or underneath Ran his fine fingers, when he leant, blank-ey'd, And saw, in fancy, Adam and his bride With their rich locks, or his own Delphic wreath

There seeentlest, yet the strongest thread Of our frail plant,--a blossoh it said Patience and gentleness is power; in me Behold affectionate eternity

XL THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS

LEIGH HUNT

King Francis was a hearty king, and lov'd a royal sport, And one day, as his lions strove, sat looking on the court: The nobles fill'd the benches round, the ladies by their side, And 'e, with one he hoped toto see that crowning show, Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below

Ra jaws; They bit, they glared, gave blows like beaht and stifled roar they roll'd one on another, Till all the pit, with sand and mane, was in a thund'rous s through the air; Said Francis then, ”Good gentlee's love o'erheard the King, a beauteous, lively daht eyes, which always seeht, ”The Count, my lover, is as brave as brave can be; He surely would do desperate things to show his love of , ladies, lovers, all look on; the chance is wondrous fine; I'll drop lory will be love to prove his love: then look'd on hi the lions wild: The leap was quick; return was quick; he soon regain'd his place; Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face!

”In truth!” cried Francis, ”rightly done!” and he rose from where he sat: ”No love,” quoth he, ”but vanity, sets love a task like that!”

_Rough wind, that ; Wild wind, when sullen cloud Knells all the night long; Sad storm, whose tears are vain, Bare woods, whose branches strain, Deep caves and dreary e_--ShellEY

XLI THE CLOUD

PERCY BYSSHE ShellEY--1792-1822

I

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers Froht shade for the leaves when laid In their noon-day dreas are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rock'd to rest on their Mother's breast, As she dances about the sun

I wield the flail of the lashi+ng hail, And whiten the green plains under; And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder

II

I sift the snow on the hast; And all the night 'tis my pillohite, While I sleep in the arms of the Blast