THE RAINBOW

III

After the tempest in the sky,

How sweet yon rainbow to the eye!

Come, my Matilda, now while some

Few drops of rain are yet to come,

In this honeysuckle bower

Safely shelter’d from the shower,

We may count the colours o’er.

Seven there are, there are no more;

Each in each so finely blended,

Where they begin, or where are ended,

The finest eye can scarcely see.

A fixed thing it seems to be;

But, while we speak, see how it glides

Away, and now observe it hides

Half of its perfect arch; now we

Scarce any part of it can see.

What is colour? If I were

A natural philosopher,

I would tell you what does make

This meteor every colour take;

But an unlearned eye may view

Nature’s rare sights, and love them too.

Whenever I a rainbow see,

Each precious tint is dear to me;

For every colour find I there

Which flowers, which fields, which ladies wear;

My favourite green, the grass’s hue,

And the fine deep violet-blue,

And the pretty pale blue-bell,

And the rose I love so well;

All the wondrous variations

Of the tulip, pinks, carnations;

This woodbine here, both flower and leaf;

’Tis a truth that’s past belief,

That every flower and every tree

And every living thing we see,

Every face which we espy,

Every cheek and every eye,

In all their tints, in every shade,

Are from the rainbow’s colours made.

QUEEN ORIANA’S
DREAM

IV

On a bank with roses shaded,

Whose sweet scent the violets aided

Violets whose breath alone

Yields but feeble smell or none,

(Sweeter bed Jove ne’er reposed on

When his eyes Olympus closed on,)

While o’erhead six slaves did hold

Canopy of cloth o’ gold,

And two more did music keep

Which might Juno lull to sleep,

Oriana who was queen

To the mighty Tamerlane,

That was lord of all the land

Between Thrace and Samarcand,

While the noon-tide fervour beam’d,

Mus’d herself to sleep, and dream’d.

Thus far, in magnific strain,

A young poet soothed his vein,

But he had nor prose nor numbers

To express a princess’ slumbers.—

Youthful Richard had strange fancies,

Was deep versed in old romances,

And could talk whole hours upon

The great Cham and Prester John,—

Tell the field in which the Sophi

From the Tartar won a trophy—

What he read with such delight of

Thought he could as easily write of;

But his over-young invention

Kept not pace with brave intention.

Twenty suns did rise and set,

And he could no further get;

But, unable to proceed,

Made a virtue out of need;

And his labours wiselier deem’d of,

Did omit what the queen dream’d of.

THE SISTER’S
EXPOSTULATION
ON THE BROTHER’S
LEARNING LATIN

V

Shut these odious books up, brother;

They have made you quite another

Thing from what you used to be:

Once you liked to play with me,

Now you leave me all alone,

And are so conceited grown

With your Latin, you’ll scarce look

Upon any English book.

We had used on winter eves

To con over Shakespeare’s leaves,

Or on Milton’s harder sense

Exercise our diligence,

And you would explain with ease

The obscurer passages;

Find me out the prettiest places,

The poetic turns and graces,

Which, alas! now you are gone,

I must puzzle out alone;

And oft miss the meaning quite,

Wanting you to set me right.

All this comes since you’ve been under

Your new master. I much wonder

What great charm it is you see

In those words, musa, musæ;

Or in what do they excel

Our word song. It sounds as well

To my fancy as the other.

Now believe me, dearest brother,

I would give my finest frock

And my cabinet and stock

Of new playthings, every toy,

I would give them all with joy,

Could I you returning see

Back to English and to me.

THE BROTHER’S
REPLY

VI

Sister, fie for shame, no more!

Give this ignorant babble o’er,

Nor, with little female pride,

Things above your sense deride.

Why this foolish underrating

Of my first attempts at Latin?

Know you not each thing we prize

Does from small beginnings rise?

’Twas the same thing with your writing

Which you now take such delight in.

First you learnt the down-stroke line,

Then the hairstroke thin and fine,

Then a curve and then a better,

Till you came to form a letter;

Then a new task was begun,

How to join them two in one;

Till you got (these first steps pass’d)

To your fine text-hand at last.

So, though I at first commence

With the humble accidence,

And my study’s course affords

Little else as yet but words,

I shall venture in a while

At construction, grammar, style,

Learn my syntax, and proceed

Classic authors next to read,

Such as wiser, better, make us,

Sallust, Phædrus, Ovid, Flaccus:

All the poets with their wit,

All the grave historians writ,

Who the lives and actions show

Of men famous long ago;

Even their very sayings giving

In the tongue they used when living.

Think not I shall do that wrong

Either to my native tongue,

English authors to despise,

Or those books which you so prize;

Though from them awhile I stray,

By new studies call’d away,

Them when next I take in hand,

I shall better understand;

For I’ve heard wise men declare

Many words in English are

From the Latin tongue derived,

Of whose sense girls are deprived

’Cause they do not Latin know.

But if all your anger grow

From this cause, that you suspect,

By proceedings indirect,

I would keep (as miser’s pelf)

All this learning to myself;

Sister, to remove this doubt,

Rather than we will fall out,

(If our parents will agree)

You shall Latin learn with me.

ON THE
LORD’S PRAYER

VII

I have taught your young lips the good words to say over,

Which form the petition we call The Lord’s Prayer,

And now let me help my dear child to discover

The meaning of all the good words that are there.

“Our Father,” the same appellation is given

To a parent on earth, and a Parent of all,

O gracious permission! the God that’s in heaven

Allows His poor creatures Him Father to call.

To “hallow His name” is to think with devotion

Of it, and with reverence mention the same;

Though you are so young, you should strive for some notion

Of the awe we should feel at the Holy One’s name.

His “will done on earth, as it is done in heaven,”

Is a wish and a hope we are suffer’d to breathe,

That such grace and favour to us may be given,

Like good angels on high we may live here beneath.

“Our daily bread give us,” your young apprehension

May well understand, is to pray for our food;

Although we ask bread, and no other thing mention,

God’s bounty gives all things sufficient and good.

You pray that your “trespasses may be forgiven,

As you forgive those that are done unto you.”

Before this you say to the God that’s in heaven,

Consider the words which you speak—are they true?

If any one has in the past time offended

Us angry creatures, who soon take offence,

These words in the prayer are surely intended

To soften our minds, and expel wrath from thence.

We pray that “temptations may never assail us,”

And “deliverance beg from all evil,” we find:

But we never can hope that our prayer will avail us,

If we strive not to banish ill thoughts from our mind.

“For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory,

For ever and ever,” these titles are meant

To express God’s dominion and majesty o’er ye;

And “Amen” to the sense of the whole gives assent.

DAVID IN THE
CAVE OF
ADULLAM

VIII

David and his three captains bold

Kept ambush once within a hold.

It was in Adullam’s cave

Nigh which no water they could have.

Nor spring, nor running brook, was near

To quench the thirst that parch’d them there.

Then David, King of Israel,

Straight bethought him of a well

Which stood beside the city gate

At Bethlem; where, before his state

Of kingly dignity, he had

Oft drunk his fill, a shepherd lad;

But now his fierce Philistine foe

Encamp’d before it he does know.

Yet ne’ertheless, with heat oppress’d,

Those three bold captains he address’d,

And wish’d that one to him would bring

Some water from his native spring.

His valiant captains instantly

To execute his will did fly.

Those three brave men the ranks broke through

Of armed foes, and water drew

For David, their beloved king,

At his own sweet native spring.

Back through their enemies they haste,

With the hard-earn’d treasure graced.

What with such danger they had sought

With joy unto their king they brought.

But when the good king David found

What they had done, he on the ground

The water pour’d, “Because,” said he,

“That it was at the jeopardy

Of your three lives this thing ye did,

That I should drink it God forbid!”