Golden Numbers Part 8

DINAH MARIA MULOCK.

_A Scene in Paradise_

Adam the goodliest man of men since born His sons; the fairest of her daughters Eve.

Under a tuft of shade that on a green Stood whispering soft, by a fresh fountain-side, They sat them down;...

... About them frisking played All beasts of the earth, since wild, and of all chase In wood or wilderness, forest or den.

Sporting the lion ramped, and in his paw Dandled the kid; bears, tigers, ounces, pards, Gamboled before them; the unwieldy elephant, To make them mirth, used all his might, and wreathed His lithe proboscis; close the serpent sly, Insinuating, wove with Gordian twine His braided train, and of his fatal guile Gave proof unheeded. Others on the gra.s.s Couched, and, now filled with pasture, gazing sat, Or bedward ruminating; for the sun, Declined, was hastening now with p.r.o.ne career To the Ocean Isles, and in the ascending scale Of Heaven the stars that usher evening rose.

JOHN MILTON.

_From "Paradise Lost."_

_The Tiger_

Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night!

What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the ardor of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire-- What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand form'd thy dread feet?

What the hammer, what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? What dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

WILLIAM BLAKE.

_The s.p.a.cious Firmament on High_

The s.p.a.cious firmament on high, With all the blue ethereal sky, And spangled heavens, a s.h.i.+ning frame.

Their great Original proclaim.

The unwearied sun from day to day Does his Creator's power display, And publishes to every land The work of an Almighty hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale, And nightly to the listening earth Repeats the story of her birth; Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole.

What though in solemn silence, all Move round this dark, terrestrial ball?

What though nor real voice nor sound Amidst their radiant orbs be found?

In Reason's ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice, Forever singing as they s.h.i.+ne: "The hand that made us is divine!"

JOSEPH ADDISON.

INTERLEAVES

_Green Things Growing_

"Oh, the fluttering and the pattering of those green things growing!

How they talk each to each, when none of us are knowing;"

"Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in gra.s.s and flowers;"

"... Lean against a streamlet's rushy banks, And watch intently Nature's gentle doings; They will be found softer than ringdoves' cooings."

"Dear, tell them, that if eyes were made for seeing, Then beauty is its own excuse for being."

"They know the time to go!

The fairy clocks strike their inaudible hour In field and woodland, and each punctual flower Bows at the signal an obedient head And hastes to bed."

"If so the sweetness of the wheat Into my soul might pa.s.s, And the clear courage of the gra.s.s."

"Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies; Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower--but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what G.o.d and man is."

III

GREEN THINGS GROWING

_Green Things Growing_

Oh, the green things growing, the green things growing, The faint sweet smell of the green things growing!

I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve, Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing.

Oh, the fluttering and the pattering of those green things growing!

How they talk each to each, when none of us are knowing; In the wonderful white of the weird moonlight Or the dim dreamy dawn when the c.o.c.ks are crowing.

I love, I love them so,--my green things growing!

And I think that they love me, without false showing; For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so much, With the soft mute comfort of green things growing.

DINAH MARIA MULOCK.

_The Sigh of Silence_