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THE HUNDRED BEST ENGLISH POEMS

Selected by

ADAM L. GOWANS, M.A.

[Illustration: Alfred, Lord Tennyson.]

[Illustration]

New York
Thomas Y. Crowell & Company
Publishers
Copyright, 1904,
By Thomas Y. Crowell & Co.

THIS
LITTLE COLLECTION
IS DEDICATED TO
JAMES FITZMAURICE-KELLY, ESQ.
BY THE SELECTOR
AS A SLIGHT MARK OF A
DEEP ADMIRATION

PREFATORY NOTE.

Let me frankly admit, to begin with, that the attractiveness and
probable selling qualities of the title of this little book, "The
Hundred Best English Poems," proved, when it had been once thought of,
too powerful arguments for it to be abandoned. I am fully conscious of
the presumption such a title implies in an unknown selector, but at
the same time I submit that only a plebiscite of duly qualified lovers
of poetry could make a selection that could claim to deserve this
title beyond all question, and such a plebiscite is of course
impossible. I can claim no more than that my attempt to realize this
title is an honest one, and I can assert, without fear of
contradiction, that every one of the poems I have included is a "gem
of purest ray serene"; that none can be too often read or too often
repeated to one's self; that every one of them should be known by
heart by every lover of good literature, so that each may become, as
it were, a part of his inner being.

I have not inserted any poems by living authors.

I have taken the greatest care with the texts of the poems. The
editions followed have been mentioned in every case. I have
scrupulously retained the punctuation of these original editions, and
only modernized the spelling of the old copies; while I have not
ventured to omit any part of any poem. I have not supplied titles of
my own, but have adopted those I found already employed in the
editions used as models, or, in some of the cases in which I found
none, have merely added a descriptive one, such as "Song from 'Don
Juan.'"

In conclusion, my very warmest thanks are due to Messrs. Macmillan &
Co., Ltd., for permission to include Tennyson's "Crossing the Bar"; to
Mr. D. Nutt for permission to insert W. E. Henley's "To R. T. H. B."
and "Margaritae Sorori"; to Messrs. Smith, Elder & Co. for a like
privilege in regard to Browning's "Epilogue," and to Mr. Lloyd
Osbourne and Messrs. Chatto & Windus for permission to reproduce
Stevenson's "Requiem." Without these poems the volume would have had a
much smaller claim to its title than it does possess, slight as that
may be. My thanks are also due to the following gentlemen who have
kindly allowed me to reproduce copyright texts of non-copyright poems
from editions published by them: Messrs. Bickers & Son (Ben Jonson),
Messrs. Chapman & Hall, Ltd. (Landor), Messrs. Chatto & Windus
(Herrick), Mr. Buxton Forman (Keats and Shelley), Mr. Henry Frowde
(Wordsworth), Mr. Alex. Gardner and the Rev. George Henderson, B.D.
(Lady Nairne), Messrs. T. C. & E. C. Jack (Burns), Messrs. Macmillan &
Co., Ltd. (Clough and Tennyson), Mr. John Murray (Byron), Messrs.
Smith, Elder & Co. (Browning), Messrs. Ward, Lock & Co., Ltd.
(Coleridge and Hood).

A. L. G.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

ANONYMOUS.
1. Madrigal 1

ARNOLD (1822-1888).
2. The Forsaken Merman 2

BARBAULD (1743-1825).
3. Life 10

BROWNING (1812-1889).
4. Song from "Pippa Passes" 12
5. Song from "Pippa Passes" 12
6. The Lost Mistress 13
7. Home-Thoughts, from the Sea 14
8. Epilogue 15

BURNS (1759-1796).
9. The Silver Tassie 17
10. Of a' the Airts 18
11. John Anderson my Jo 19
12. Ae Fond Kiss 20
13. Ye Flowery Banks 21
14. A Red, Red Rose 22
15. Mary Morison 24

BYRON (1788-1824).
16. She Walks in Beauty 26
17. Oh! Snatched Away in Beauty's Bloom 27
18. Song from "The Corsair" 28
19. Song from "Don Juan" 29

CAMPBELL (1777-1844).
20. Hohenlinden 35

CLOUGH (1819-1861).
21. Say not the Struggle Nought Availeth 37

COLERIDGE (1772-1834).
22. Youth and Age 38

COLLINS (1721-1759).
23. Written in the Year 1746 41

COWPER (1731-1800).
24. To a Young Lady 42

CUNNINGHAM (1784-1842).
25. A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea 43

DAVENANT (1606-1668).
26. Song 45

DRYDEN (1631-1700).
27. A Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687 46

GOLDSMITH (1728-1774).
28. Song 50

GRAY (1716-1771).
29. Elegy written in a Country Church-yard 51

HENLEY (1849-1903).
30. To R. T. H. B. 59
31. I. M. Margaritae Sorori 60

HERBERT (1593-1632).
32. Virtue 62

HERRICK (1591-1674).
33. To the Virgins, to make much of Time 63
34. To Anthea, who may command him anything 64

HOOD (1798-1845).
35. The Death Bed 66
36. The Bridge of Sighs 67
37. I Remember, I Remember 72

JONSON (1573-1637).
38. To Celia 74

KEATS (1795-1821).
39. On first looking into Chapman's Homer 75
40. Ode to a Nightingale 76
41. Ode on a Grecian Urn 80
42. To Autumn 83
43. Ode on Melancholy 85
44. La Belle Dame sans Merci 87
45. Sonnet 90

LAMB (1775-1834).
46. The Old Familiar Faces 92

LANDOR (1775-1864).
47. The Maid's Lament 94

LOVELACE (1618-1658).
48. To Lucasta. Going to the Wars 96

MILTON (1608-1674).
49. On the Morning of Christ's Nativity 97
50. L'Allegro 112
51. Il Penseroso 119
52. Lycidas 127
53. On his Blindness 137

NAIRINE (1766-1845).
54. The Land o' the Leal 138

POPE (1688-1744).
55. Ode on Solitude 140

RALEIGH (1552-1618).
56. The Night before his Death 142

ROGERS (1763-1855).
57. A Wish 143

SHAKESPEARE (1564-1616).
58. Sonnets. XVII. Who will believe my verse? 144
59. XVIII. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? 145
60. XXX. When to the sessions 145
61. XXXIII. Full many a glorious morning 146
62. LX. Like as the waves 147
63. LXVI. Tired with all these 148
64. LXXI. No longer mourn 149
65. LXXIII. That time of year 149
66. LXXIV. But be contented 150
67. CVI. When in the chronicle 151
68. CXVI. Let me not to the marriage 152
69. Song from "The Tempest" 152
70. Song from "Measure for Measure" 153
71. Song from "Much Ado about Nothing" 153
72. Song from "Cymbeline" 154

SHELLEY (1792-1822).
73. Song from "Prometheus Unbound" 156
74. Ode to the West Wind 157
75. The Cloud 161
76. To a Skylark 165
77. Chorus from "Hellas" 171
78. Stanzas. Written in Dejection, near Naples 173
79. The Indian Serenade 176
80. To ---- 177
81. To Night 178

SHIRLEY (1596-1666).
82. Song from "Ajax and Ulysses" 181

SOUTHEY (1774-1843).
83. Stanzas 183

STEVENSON (1850-1894).
84. Requiem 185

TENNYSON (1809-1892).
85. Song from "The Miller's Daughter" 186
86. St. Agnes' Eve 187
87. Break, break, break 188
88. Song from "The Princess" 189
89. Song from "The Princess" 191
90. Crossing the Bar 192

WALLER (1606-1687).
91. On a Girdle 193
92. Song 194

WORDSWORTH (1770-1850).
93. She dwelt among the untrodden ways 195
94. She was a Phantom of delight 195
95. Sonnets. Part I.--XXXIII. The world is
too much with us 197
96. Part II.--XXXVI. Earth has not anything 198
97. To a Highland Girl, at Inversneyde, upon
Loch Lomond 198
98. The Solitary Reaper 202
99. Intimations of Immortality from
Recollections of Early Childhood 204

WOTTON (1568-1639).
100. On his Mistress, the Queen of Bohemia 215

THE HUNDRED BEST
ENGLISH POEMS.

ANONYMOUS.

1. _Madrigal._

Love not me for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face;
Nor for any outward part,
No, nor for my constant heart:
For those may fail or turn to ill,
So thou and I shall sever:
Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me still, but know not why;
So hast thou the same reason still
To doat upon me ever.

_1609 Edition._

* * * * *

MATTHEW ARNOLD.

2. _The Forsaken Merman._

Come, dear children, let us away;
Down and away below.
Now my brothers call from the bay;
Now the great winds shorewards blow;
Now the salt tides seawards flow;
Now the wild white horses play,
Champ and chafe and toss in the spray.
Children dear, let us away.
This way, this way.

Call her once before you go.
Call once yet.
In a voice that she will know:
"Margaret! Margaret!"
Children's voices should be dear
(Call once more) to a mother's ear:
Children's voices, wild with pain.
Surely she will come again.
Call her once and come away.
This way, this way.
"Mother dear, we cannot stay."
The wild white horses foam and fret.
Margaret! Margaret!

Come, dear children, come away down.
Call no more.
One last look at the white-wall'd town,
And the little grey church on the windy shore.
Then come down.
She will not come though you call all day.
Come away, come away.

Children dear, was it yesterday
We heard the sweet bells over the bay?
In the caverns where we lay,
Through the surf and through the swell,
The far-off sound of a silver bell?
Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep,
Where the winds are all asleep;
Where the spent lights quiver and gleam;
Where the salt weed sways in the stream;
Where the sea-beasts rang'd all round
Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground;
Where the sea-snakes coil and twine,
Dry their mail and bask in the brine;
Where great whales come sailing by,
Sail and sail, with unshut eye,
Round the world for ever and aye?
When did music come this way?
Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, was it yesterday
(Call yet once) that she went away?
Once she sate with you and me,
On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea,
And the youngest sate on her knee.
She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well,
When down swung the sound of the far-off bell.
She sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear green sea.
She said; "I must go, for my kinsfolk pray
In the little grey church on the shore to-day.
'Twill be Easter-time in the world--ah me!
And I lose my poor soul, Merman, here with thee."
I said; "Go up, dear heart, through the waves.
Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves."
She smil'd, she went up through the surf in the bay.
Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, were we long alone?
"The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan.
Long prayers," I said, "in the world they say.
Come," I said, and we rose through the surf in the bay.
We went up the beach, by the sandy down
Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-wall'd town.
Through the narrow pav'd streets, where all was still,
To the little grey church on the windy hill.
From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers,
But we stood without in the cold blowing airs.
We climb'd on the graves, on the stones, worn with rains,
And we gaz'd up the aisle through the small leaded panes.
She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear:
"Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here.
Dear heart," I said, "we are long alone.
The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan."
But, ah, she gave me never a look,
For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book.
"Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door."
Come away, children, call no more.
Come away, come down, call no more.

Down, down, down.
Down to the depths of the sea.
She sits at her wheel in the humming town,
Singing most joyfully.
Hark, what she sings: "O joy, O joy,
For the humming street, and the child with its toy.
For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well.
For the wheel where I spun,
And the blessed light of the sun."
And so she sings her fill,
Singing most joyfully,
Till the shuttle falls from her hand,
And the whizzing wheel stands still.

She steals to the window, and looks at the sand;
And over the sand at the sea;
And her eyes are set in a stare;
And anon there breaks a sigh,
And anon there drops a tear,
From a sorrow-clouded eye,
And a heart sorrow-laden,
A long, long sigh.
For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden,
And the gleam of her golden hair.

Come away, away children.
Come children, come down.
The hoarse wind blows colder;
Lights shine in the town.
She will start from her slumber
When gusts shake the door;
She will hear the winds howling,
Will hear the waves roar.
We shall see, while above us
The waves roar and whirl,
A ceiling of amber,
A pavement of pearl.
Singing, "Here came a mortal,
But faithless was she.
And alone dwell for ever
The kings of the sea."

But, children, at midnight,
When soft the winds blow;
When clear falls the moonlight;
When spring-tides are low:
When sweet airs come seaward
From heaths starr'd with broom;
And high rocks throw mildly
On the blanch'd sands a gloom:
Up the still, glistening beaches,
Up the creeks we will hie;
Over banks of bright seaweed
The ebb-tide leaves dry.
We will gaze, from the sand-hills,
At the white, sleeping town;
At the church on the hill-side--
And then come back down.
Singing, "There dwells a lov'd one,
But cruel is she.
She left lonely for ever
The kings of the sea."

_1857 Edition._

* * * * *

ANNA LAETITIA BARBAULD.

3. _Life._

_Animula, vagula, blandula._

Life! I know not what thou art,
But know that thou and I must part;
And when, or how, or where we met,
I own to me's a secret yet.
But this I know, when thou art fled,
Where'er they lay these limbs, this head,
No clod so valueless shall be,
As all that then remains of me.

O whither, whither dost thou fly,
Where bend unseen thy trackless course,
And in this strange divorce,
Ah tell where I must seek this compound I?
To the vast ocean of empyreal flame,
From whence thy essence came,
Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed
From matter's base encumbering weed?
Or dost thou, hid from sight,
Wait, like some spell-bound knight,
Through blank oblivious years the appointed hour,
To break thy trance and reassume thy power?
Yet canst thou without thought or feeling be?
O say what art thou, when no more thou'rt thee?

Life! we've been long together,
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;
'Tis hard to part when friends are dear;
Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;
Then steal away, give little warning,
Choose thine own time;
Say not Good night, but in some brighter clime
Bid me Good morning.

_1825 Edition._

* * * * *

ROBERT BROWNING.

4. _Song from "Pippa Passes."_

The year's at the spring
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn:
God's in his heaven--
All's right with the world!

5. _Song from "Pippa Passes."_

You'll love me yet!--and I can tarry
Your love's protracted growing:
June reared that bunch of flowers you carry,
From seeds of April's sowing.

I plant a heartful now: some seed
At least is sure to strike,
And yield--what you'll not pluck indeed,
Not love, but, may be, like.

You'll look at least on love's remains,
A grave's one violet:
Your look?--that pays a thousand pains.
What's death? You'll love me yet!

6. _The Lost Mistress._

I.

All's over, then: does truth sound bitter
As one at first believes?
Hark, 'tis the sparrows' good-night twitter
About your cottage eaves!

II.

And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly,
I noticed that, to-day;
One day more bursts them open fully
--You know the red turns grey.

III.

To-morrow we meet the same then, dearest?
May I take your hand in mine?
Mere friends are we,--well, friends the merest
Keep much that I resign:

IV.

For each glance of the eye so bright and black,
Though I keep with heart's endeavour,--
Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back,
Though it stay in my soul for ever!--

V.

Yet I will but say what mere friends say,
Or only a thought stronger;
I will hold your hand but as long as all may,
Or so very little longer!

7. _Home-Thoughts, from the Sea._

Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-west died away;
Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay;
Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay;
In the dimmest North-east distance dawned Gibraltar grand and grey;
"Here and here did England help me: how can I help England?"--say,
Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray,
While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.

8. _Epilogue._

At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time,
When you set your fancies free,
Will they pass to where--by death, fools think, imprisoned--
Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you loved so,
--Pity me?

Oh to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken!
What had I on earth to do
With the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly?
Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I drivel
--Being--who?

One who never turned his back but marched breast forward,
Never doubted clouds would break,
Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,
Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,
Sleep to wake.

No, at noonday in the bustle of man's work-time
Greet the unseen with a cheer!
Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,
"Strive and thrive!" cry "Speed,--fight on, fare ever
There as here!"

_1896 Edition._

* * * * *

ROBERT BURNS.

9. _The Silver Tassie._

I.

Go, fetch to me a pint o' wine,
And fill it in a silver tassie,
That I may drink before I go
A service to my bonie lassie!
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith,
Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry,
The ship rides by the Berwick-Law,
And I maun leave my bonie Mary.

II.

The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
The glittering spears are ranked ready,
The shouts o' war are heard afar,
The battle closes deep and bloody.
It's not the roar o' sea or shore
Wad mak me langer wish to tarry,
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar:
It's leaving thee, my bonie Mary!

10. _Of a' the Airts._

I.

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw
I dearly like the west,
For there the bonie lassie lives,
The lassie I lo'e best.
There wild woods grow, and rivers row,
And monie a hill between,
But day and night my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.

II.

I see her in the dewy flowers--
I see her sweet and fair.
I hear her in the tunefu' birds--
I hear her charm the air.
There's not a bonie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green,
There's not a bonie bird that sings,
But minds me o' my Jean.

11. _John Anderson my Jo._

I.

John Anderson my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonie brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw,
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo!

II.

John Anderson my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither,
And monie a cantie day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither;
Now we maun totter down, John,
And hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson my jo!

12. _Ae Fond Kiss._

I.

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae farewell, and then forever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me,
Dark despair around benights me.

II.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy:
Naething could resist my Nancy!
But to see her was to love her,
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
Never met--or never parted--
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

III.

Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, Enjoyment, Love, and Pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae farewell, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.

13. _Ye Flowery Banks._

I.

Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon,
How can ye blume sae fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae fu' o' care?

II.

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,
That sings upon the bough:
Thou minds me o' the happy days
When my fause Luve was true!

III.

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,
That sings beside thy mate:
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate!

IV.

Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon
To see the woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
And sae did I o' mine.

V.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose
Frae aff its thorny tree,
And my fause luver staw my rose,
But left the thorn wi' me.

14. _A Red, Red Rose._

I.

O, my luve is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June.
O, my luve is like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

II.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I,
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

III.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun!
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

IV.

And fare the weel, my only luve,
And fare the weel a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!

15. _Mary Morison._

I.

O Mary, at thy window be!
It is the wish'd, the trysted hour.
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That make the miser's treasure poor.
How blythely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure--
The lovely Mary Morison!

II.

Yestreen, when to the trembling string
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat, but neither heard or saw:
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a' the town,
I sigh'd and said amang them a':--
"Ye are na Mary Morison!"

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