How sweet I roamed from field to field
And tasted all the summer's pride,
Till I the Prince of Love beheld
Who in the sunny beams did glide!

He showed me lilies for my hair,
And blushing roses for my brow;
He led me through his gardens fair
Where all his golden pleasures grow.

With sweet May dews my wings were wet,
And Phoebus fired my vocal rage;

He caught me in his silken net,
And shut me in his golden cage.

He loves to sit and hear me sing,

Then, laughing, sports and plays with me;
Then stretches out my golden wing,

And mocks my loss of liberty.

WILLIAM BLAKE

172

THE BOOK

Of this fair volume which we World do name
If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care,
Of Him who it corrects and did it frame,
We clear might read the art and wisdom rare:

Find out His power which wildest powers doth tame,

His providence extending everywhere,

His justice which proud rebels doth not spare,
In every page, no period of the same.

But silly we, like foolish children, rest

Well pleased with coloured vellum, leaves of gold,
Fair dangling ribbands, leaving what is best,
On the great Writer's sense ne'er taking hold;

Or, if by chance we stay our minds on aught,
It is some picture on the margin wrought.

WILLIAM DRUMMOND

173

TETHY'S FESTIVAL

ARE they shadows that we see?
And can shadows pleasures give?
Pleasures only shadows be,
Cast by bodies we conceive;
And are made the things we deem
In those figures which they seem.

But those pleasures vanish fast,
Which by shadows are exprest;

Pleasures are not, if they last;
In their passing is their best:
Glory is more bright and gay
In a flash, and so away.

Feed apace then, greedy eyes,
On the wonder you behold:

Take it sudden, as it flies,

Though you take it not to hold.

When your eyes have done their part
Thought must length'n it in the heart.

SAMUEL DANIEL

174

A WAR SONG TO ENGLISHMEN

PREPARE, prepare the iron helm of War,

Bring forth the lots, cast in the spacious orb;

The Angel of Fate turns them with mighty hands,
And casts them out upon the darkened earth!

Prepare, prepare!

Prepare your hearts for Death's cold hand! prepare
Your souls for flight, your bodies for the earth;
Prepare your arms for glorious victory;

Prepare your eyes to meet a holy God!

Whose fatal scroll is that?

Prepare, prepare!

Methinks 'tis mine!

Why sinks my heart, why faltereth my tongue?
Had I three lives, I'd die in such a cause,
And rise, with ghosts, over the well-fought field.
Prepare, prepare!

The arrows of Almighty God are drawn!
Angels of Death stand in the lowering heavens!
Thousands of souls must seek the realms of light,
And walk together on the clouds of heaven!

Prepare, prepare!

Soldiers, prepare! Our cause is Heaven's cause;
Soldiers, prepare! Be worthy of our cause:
Prepare to meet our father's in the sky:

Prepare, O troops, that are to fa'l to-day!

Prepare, prepare!

Alfred shall smile, and make his harp rejoice;
The Norman William, and the learnèd Clerk,