THE QUARREL OF FRIENDS.

FROM "CHRISTABEL."

ALAS! they had been friends in youth : But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above ;

And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love

Doth work like madness in the brain. And thus it chanced, as I divine, With Roland and Sir Leoline ! Each spoke words of high disdain And insult to his heart's best brother; They parted, - ne'er to meet again! But never either found another To free the hollow heart from paining. They stood aloof, the scars remaining, Like cliffs which had been rent asunder; A dreary sea now flows between, But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder Shall wholly do away, I ween, The marks of that which once hath been.

You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella, For taking bribes here of the Sardians; Wherein my letters, praying on his side,

Because I knew the man, were slighted off.

CAS. Is't possible ? BRU.

Hear me, for I will speak. Must I give way and room to your rash choler? Shall I be frighted when a madman stares ?

CAS. O ye gods! ye gods! Must I endure all this?

BRU. All this? ay, more: Fret, till your proud heart break;

Go, show your slaves how choleric you are,
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?
Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch
Under your testy humor? By the gods,
You shall digest the venom of your spleen,
Though it do split you; for from this day forth
I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,
When you are waspish.

You know that you are Brutus that speak this, Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.

BRU. The name of Cassius honors this corruption,

And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. CAS. Chastisement !

member!

Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake? What villain touched his body, that did stab, And not for justice? What! shall one of us, That struck the foremost man of all this world, But for supporting robbers, shall we now

BRU. You have done that you should be sorry for.

There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats;
For I am armed so strong in honesty,
That they pass by me as the idle wind,
Which I respect not. I did send to you

For certain sums of gold, which you denied me;

For I can raise no money by vile means :

By Heaven, I had rather coin my heart,
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash,
By any indirection. I did send

To you for gold to pay my legions,
Which you deniedme: Wasthat done like Cassius?
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so?

When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,
To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,
Dash him to pieces !
CAS.

I denied you not.

Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,
For Cassius is a-weary of the world :
Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother;
Checked like a bondman; all his faults observed,
Set in a note-book, learned and conned by rote,
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep
My spirit from mine eyes! - There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast; within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold :
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth;
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart.
Strike as thou didst at Cæsar; for I know,
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst

dead.

CAS. Ha! Portia? BRU. She is dead.

CAS. How 'scaped I killing, when I crossed you

so?

O insupportable and touching loss! -
Upon what sickness ?
BRU.

Impatient of my absence,
And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony
Have made themselves so strong;
for with her

death

That tidings came; - with this she fell distract,
And, her attendants absent, swallowed fire.
CAS. And died so ?

BRU. Even so.

CAS. O ye immortal gods!

Enter LUCIUS, with wine and tapers.

BRU. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl

of wine:

In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. (Drinks.) CAS. My heart is thirsty for that noble. pledge.

Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup;
I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. (Drinks.)

SHAKESPEARE.

THE ROYAL GUEST.

THEY tell me I am shrewd with other men ;
With thee I'm slow, and difficult of speech.
With others I may guide the car of talk:
Thou wing'st it oft to realms beyond my reach.

If other guests should come, I'd deck my hair,
And choose my newest garment from the shelf;
When thou art bidden, I would clothe my heart
With holiest purpose, as for God himself.

For them I while the hours with tale or song,
Or web of fancy, fringed with careless rhyme;
But how to find a fitting lay for thee,
Who hast the harmonies of every time ?

O friend beloved ! I sit apart and dumb,
Sometimes in sorrow, oft in joy divine;
My lip will falter, but my prisoned heart
Springs forth to measure its faint pulse with
thine.

Thou art to me most like a royal guest,
Whose travels bring him to some lowly roof,
Where simple rustics spread their festal fare
And, blushing, own it is not good enough.

Bethink thee, then, whene'er thou com'st to me,
From high emprise and noble toil to rest,
My thoughts are weak and trivial, matched with
thine;

But the poor mansion offers thee its best.
JULIA WARD HOWE.

THE DEAD FRIEND.

FROM "IN MEMORIAM."

THE path by which we twain did go, Which led by tracts that pleased us well, Through four sweet years arose and fell, From flower to flower, from snow to snow.

But where the path we walked began To slant the fifth autumnal slope, As we descended following Hope, There sat the Shadow feared of man;

Who broke our fair companionship,
And spread his mantle dark and cold,
And wrapped thee formless in the fold,
And dulled the murmur on thy lip.

When each by turns was guide to each,
And Fancy light from Fancy caught,
And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought
Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech;

And all we met was fair and good,
And all was good that Time could bring.
And all the secret of the Spring
Moved in the chambers of the blood;

I know that this was Life, - the track
Whereon with equal feet we fared;
And then, as now, the day prepared
The daily burden for the back.

But this it was that made me move
As light as carrier-birds in air;
I loved the weight I had to bear
Because it needed help of Love :

Nor could I weary, heart or limb,

When mighty Love would cleave in twain

The lading of a single pain, And part it, giving half to him.

But I remained, whose hopes were dim, Whose life, whose thoughts were little worth To wander on a darkened earth,

Where all things round me breathed of him.

O friendship, equal-poised control,

O heart, with kindliest motion warm,
O sacred essence, other form,
O solemn ghost, O crowned soul!

Yet none could better know than I,
How much of act at human hands
The sense of human will demands
By which we dare to live or die.
Whatever way my days decline,
I felt and feel, though left alone,
His being working in mine own,
The footsteps of his life in mine.

My pulses therefore beat again
For other friends that once I met;
Nor can it suit me to forget
The mighty hopes that make us men.

I woo your love: I count it crime
To mourn for any overmuch;
I, the divided half of such

A friendship as had mastered Time;

Which masters Time, indeed, and is
Eternal, separate from fears :
The all-assuming months and years
Can take no part away from this.

O days and hours, your work is this, To hold me from my proper place, A little while from his embrace, For fuller gain of after bliss :

That out of distance might ensue
Desire of nearness doubly sweet;
And unto meeting when we meet,
Delight a hundred-fold accrue.

The hills are shadows, and they flow
From form to form, and nothing stands;
They melt like mist, the solid lands,
Like clouds they shape themselves and go.

But in my spirit will I dwell,

And dream my dream, and hold it true; For though my lips may breathe adieu, I cannot think the thing farewell.

ALFRED TENNYSON,

TO MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY.

MERRY Margaret,

As midsummer flower,

Gentle as falcon,

Or hawk of the tower;

With solace and gladness,
Much mirth and no madness,
All good and no badness;
So joyously,

So maidenly,
So womanly

Her demeaning, -
In everything

Far, far passing
That I can indite,
Or suffice to write,
Of merry Margaret,
As midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon

Or hawk of the tower;
As patient and as still,
And as full of good-will,
As fair Isiphil,
Coliander,

Sweet Pomander,
Good Cassander;

Steadfast of thought,
Well made, well wrought;
Far may be sought
Ere you can find

So courteous, so kind,
As merry Margaret,
This midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon,

Or hawk of the tower.

JOHN SKELTON.

WHY SHOULD THIS DESERT SILENT BE?

FROM "AS YOU LIKE IT."

WHY should this desert silent be?
For it is unpeopled? No;
Tongues I 'll hang on every tree,
That shall civil sayings show:
Some, how brief the life of man
Runs his erring pilgrimage;
That the stretching of a span
Buckles in his sum of age :
Some, of violated vows

'Twixt the souls of friend and friend:

But upon the fairest boughs,
Or at every sentence' end,
Will I Rosalinda write;
Teaching all that read to know
The quintessence of every sprite
Heaven would in little show.
Therefore Heaven nature charged
That one body should be filled
With all graces wide enlarged :
Nature presently distilled
Helen's cheek, but not her heart,
Cleopatra's majesty,
Atalanta's better part,
Sad Lucretia's modesty.
Thus Rosalind of many parts
By heavenly synod was devised;
Of many faces, eyes, and hearts,
To have the touches dearest prized.
Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
And I to live and die her slave.

SHAKESPEARE.

PHILLIS THE FAIR.

ON a hill there grows a flower,
Fair befall the dainty sweet!
By that flower there is a bower
Where the heavenly muses meet.

In that bower there is a chair, Fringéd all about with gold, Where doth sit the fairest fair That ever eye did yet behold.

It is Phillis, fair and bright, She that is the shepherd's joy, She that Venus did despite, And did blind her little boy.

Who would not that face admire? Who would not this saint adore? Who would not this sight desire? Though he thought to see no more.

Thou that art the shepherd's queen, Look upon thy love-sick swain;

By thy comfort have been seen Dead men brought to life again.

NICHOLAS BRETON