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INTRODUCTION.

THE design of the Editor or Compiler of the following volume was to present one great panoramic view of the masterpieces of English poetry, and that of the publishers to issue it in a form and at a price which would recommend it to the taste of the rich, without placing it beyond the means of the poor. The original intention of the Editor was to commence with Chaucer and end with Wordsworth, Moore, Rogers, Hood, Campbell, and other poets of the last generation, who have recently passed from among us, thus excluding the works of living writers. To this arrangement the publishers made objection, on the ground, very easily defensible, that some of the brightest gems of the "Thousand and One" are the productions of living genius-both in Great Britain and the United States of America. The Editor yielded the point, but was met with the serious difficulty that it was not in all cases possible to include the works of living writers-even if their consent could be obtained;-firstly, because the copyrights were not always their own ;-secondly, because their addresses were not obtainable without great trouble and loss of time;—and thirdly, because the modern poets, in England and America, were so numerous, that if specimens of all their poetic jewellery were got together, an undue proportion of the volume would be occupied by writers of the second half of the nineteenth century. Another difficulty which personally was more serious, existed in the dilemma in which the Editor found himself with regard to his own compositions. Had any other than himself been Editor, the publishers were of opinion that his consent would assuredly have been asked for permission to reproduce some of his lyrics and other pieces; while the Editor, on his part, knew

that had such consent been asked, it would have been cheerfully given. If there be, under the circumstances, an apparent sin against good taste in the matter, the publishers must bear the blame; for it is they who have put the pressure upon the Editor, and compelled his assent to a selection, which would not have been necessary, if the original idea of the volume had been adhered to. As regards the selection itself, it claims to justify its title, and to afford a fair as well as comprehensive view of the rise, progress, and present state of English poetry. All the "Gems" in the volume are not of equal brilliancy. The diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and pearls of literature are few;-but there are other "gems" than these, of inferior value, but still gemlike;-agate, cornelian, amethyst, turquoise, onyx, and scores of others known to the lapidary and jeweller, and prized by them and by the public to whose appreciation they are offered. To the living writers, whose consent has been given to the appearance of their "gems" in these pages, the Editor offers his best thanks;-to the living writers whose consent has not been asked, he offers his apologies, and would gladly have included some specimens of their genius had time and the bulk of the volume permitted; and to those who have been asked and who have not replied, he has to explain that wherever permission was possible, he would not act without it. To the publishers of the works of authors recently deceased, and proprietors of their copyrights, he has also to offer his acknowledgments for their courtesy, and for the promptitude with which they entered into what, he supposes, would have been the feelings of those poets if they had been still alive;-the very natural desire to appear in the immortal company of the Fathers of English Song.

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The Editor desires also to acknowledge thankfully the courtesy of Messrs. Ticknor and Fields, of Boston, proprietors of the works of Longfellow, Emerson, Holmes, Lowell, Whittier, &c.; and of Messrs. Appleton & Co., of New York, publishers of Bryant's poems -in granting exclusive permission to incorporate in this volume selections from the works of those distinguished A merican writers.

A THOUSAND AND ONE GEMS OF

ENGLISH

POETRY.

[GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 1328-1400.]

PRAISE OF WOMEN.

FOR, this ye know well, tho' I wouldin lie,

In women is all truth and steadfastness; For, in good faith, I never of them sie But much worship, bounty, and gentle

ness,

Right coming, fair, and full of meekéness;
Good, and glad, and lowly, I you ensure,
Is this goodly and àngelic creatùre.

And if it hap a man be in disease,
She doth her business and her full pain
With all her might him to comfort and
please,

If fro his disease him she might restrain:
In word ne deed, I wis, she woll not faine;
With all her might she doth her business
To bringen him out of his heaviness.

Lo, here what gentleness these women have,

If we could know it for our rudéness !
How busy they be us to keep and save
Both in hele and also in sickness,
And alway right sorry for our distress!
In every manère thus shew they ruth,
That in them is all goodness and all
truth.

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THE YOUNG SQUIRE.

WITH him there was his son, a youngé Squire,

A lover and a lusty bacholer, With lockés crull, as they were laid in press.

Of twenty year of age he was I guess.

Of his statùre he was of even length, And wonderly deliver and great of strength;

And he had been some time in chevachie In Flandres, in Artois, and in Picardy, And borne him well, as of so little space, In hope to standen in his lady's grace

Embroidered was he, as it were a mead All full of freshé flowers white and red. Singing he was or fluting all the day: He was as fresh as is the month of May. Short was his gown, with sleevés long and wide;

Well could he sit on horse, and fairé ride. He couldé songés well make, and indite, Joust, and eke dance, and well pourtray

and write.

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ARCITA'S DYING ADDRESS.

"ALAS the wo! alas, the painés strong That I for you have suffered, and so long!

Alas, the death!-alas mine Emelie !
Alas, departing of our company!

Alas, mine herte's queen !-alas, my wife,
Mine herte's lady-ender of my life!
What is this world? What axen men to
have?

Now with his love, now in his coldé grave

Alone! withouten any company, Farewell, my sweet! - farewell, mine Emelie !"

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COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE OF HIS LOVE.

SOE feeble is the thred that doth the burden stay,

Of my poor life in heavy plight that falleth in decay,

That but it have elsewhere some ayde or some succours,

The running spindle of my fate anon shall end his course.

For since the unhappy houre that dyd me to depart,

From my sweet weale one only hoape hath stayed my life apart,

Which doth perswade such words unto my sored mynde,

Maintaine thy selfe, O wofull wight, some better luck to find.

For though thou be deprived from thy desired sight

Who can thee tell, if thy returne before thy more delight;

Or who can tell thy loss if thou mayst

once recover,

Some pleasant houres thy wo may wrap, and thee defend and cover. Thus in this trust, as yet it hath my life sustained,

But now (alas) I see it faint, and I by trust am trayned.

The tyme doth flete, and I see how the hours do bende,

So fast that I have scant the space to marke my coming end.

Westward the sunn from out the east scant shewd his lite,

When in the west he hies him straite within the dark of night

And comes as fast, where he began his path awry,

From east to west, from west to east, so doth his journey lye.

Thy lyfe so short, so frayle, that mortall men lyve here,

Soe great a weight, so heavy charge the bodyes that we bere,

That when I think upon the distance and the space,

That doth so farre divide me from thy dere desired face,

I know not how t'attaine the winges that I require,

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