"LIKE DRIFTWOOD SPARS WHICH MEET AND PASS UPON THE BOUNDLESS OCEAN PLAIN; 14 "FOR WHAT WEARS OUT THE LIFE OF MORTAL MEN? MATTHEW ARNOLD. Weeping at his master's end; And had torn up by the roots With long plumes, and soft brown seeds, Sitting on a tabled stone Where the shoreward ripple breaks. Ah, poor Faun, poor Faun! ah, poor Faun! [From "Empedocles on Etna a long and lofty chant" on the "For its nothingness of life and the mutability of human things, relieved by lyrical 'TIS THAT FROM CHANGE TO CHANGE THEIR BEING ROLLS."-ARNOLD. SO ON THE SEA OF LIFE, ALAS! MAN NEARS MAN, MEETS, AND LEAVES AGAIN."-ARNOLD. "BUT WE BROUGHT FORTH, AND REARED IN HOURS OF CHANGE, ALARM, SURPRISE, 66 LONG THE WAY APPEARS, WHICH SEEMED SO SHORT A PICTURE AT NEWSTEAD. A PICTURE AT NEWSTEAD. HAT made my heart at Newstead fullest swell? Stormily sweet, his Titan agony : It was the sight of that Lord Arundel WHAT SHELTER TO GROW RIPE IS OURS, WHAT LEISURE TO GROW WISE?"-ARNOLD. NEWSTEAD ABBEY. Who struck in heat the child he loved so well; They hang the picture doth the story tell. Methinks the woe that made that father stand, Was woe than Byron's woe more tragic far. [From "Sonnets," in Mr. Matthew Arnold's "Collected Poems," edit. 1869.] TO THE LESS PRACTISED EYE OF SANGUINE YOUTH."-ARNOLD. 15 (2) "THIS IS THE CURSE OF LIFE THAT NOT A NOBLER, CALMER TRAIN-MATTHEW ARNOLD) OF WISER THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS BLOT OUR PASSIONS FROM OUR BRAIN."-MATTHEW ARNOLD. Yes, this, and more. But not, Ah, 'tis not what in youth we dreamed 'twould be! "HITHER AND THITHER SPINS THE WIND-BORNE, MIRRORING SOUL (ARNOLD) "A THIRST TO SPEND OUR FIRE AND RESTLESS FORCE LINES WRITTEN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS. Mellowed and softened as with sunset-glow, 'Tis not to see the world As from a height, with rapt, prophetic eyes, And weep, and feel the fulness of the past, It is to spend long days And not once feel that we were ever young! In the hot prison of the present, month To month with weary pain. It is to suffer this, And feel but half, and feebly, what we feel. Festers the dull remembrance of a change, It is last stage of all— When we are frozen up within, and quite To hear the world applaud the living ghost, [From "Collected Poems," 1869.] LINES WRITTEN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS. IN this lone open glade I lie, Screened by deep boughs on either hand. Those black-crowned, red-boled pine-trees stand. IN TRACKING OUT OUR TRUE, ORIGINAL COURSE.' -ARNOLD. A THOUSAND GLIMPSES WINS, AND NEVER SEES A WHOLE."-MATTHEW ARNOLD. 17 "WE FEEL, DAY AND NIGHT, THE PURDEN OF OURSELVES."-MATTHEW ARNOLD. 18 "THE STREAM OF LIFE'S MAJESTIC WHOle.”- -ARNOLD. MATTHEW ARNOLD. Birds here make song, each bird has his, Across the girdling city's hum; How thick the tremulous sheep-cries come! Sometimes a child will cross the glade Here at my feet what wonders pass, What endless, active life is here! Scarce fresher is the mountain-sod In the huge world which roars hard by, I, on men's impious uproar hurled, Yet here is peace for ever new! When I who watch them am away, THOUGHTS LIGHT, LIKE GLEAMS, MY SPIRIT'S SKY."-ARNOLD. "WE WOULD HAVE MISERY CEASE, YET WILL NOT CEASE FROM SIN."-ARNOLD. |