Milton

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Three centuries have passed away

Since that most famous April day,

When the sweet, gentle Will was born,

Whose name the age will e’re adorn.

That great Elizabethan age

Does not leave on history’s page,

A name so bright he stands like Saul,

A head and shoulders over all.

Delineator of mankind,

Who shows the workings of the mind,

And in review in nature’s glass,

Portrays the thoughts of every class.

That man is dull who will not laugh

At the drolleries of Falstaff,

And few that could not shed a tear

At sorrows of poor old King Lear.

Or lament o’er King Duncan’s death

Stabbed by the dagger of McBeth,

Or gentle Desdemona pure,

Slain by the misled jealous Moor.

Or great Caesar mighty Roman

Who o’ercame his country’s foemen,

His high deeds are all in vain,

For by his countrymen he’s slain.

The greatest of heroic tales

Is that of Harry, Prince of Wales,

Who in combat fought so fiercely

With the brave and gallant Percy.

Imagination’s grandest theme

The tempest or midsummer’s dream,

And Hamlet’s philosophic blaze

Of shattered reason’s flickering rays.

And now in every land on earth

They commemorate Shakespeare’s birth,

And there is met on Avon’s banks

Men of all nations and all ranks.

And here upon Canadian Thames

The gentle maids and comely dames

Do meet and each does bring her scroll

Of laurel leaves from Ingersoll.

Milton

Like mightiest organ in full tone,

Melodious, grand, is great Milton,

He did in lofty measures tell

How Satan, great archangel, fell,

When from heaven downward hurled;

And how he ruined this our world,

So full of guile he did deceive

Our simple hearted parent Eve.

He shows how pardon is obtained

And paradise may be regained.

Coleridge, Southey and Wordsworth

England had triplets at a birth,

Coleridge, Southey and Wordsworth,

And these three are widely famed,

And the “Lake Poets” they were named.

With joy they did pursue their themes,

’Mong England’s lakes and hills and streams,

From there with gladness they could view

The distant Scottish mountains blue.

Shelly

We have scarcely time to tell thee

Of the strange and gifted Shelly,

Kind hearted man but ill-fated,

So youthful, drowned and cremated.

Byron

Poets they do pursue each theme,

Under a gentle head of steam,

Save one who needed fierce fire on,

The brilliant, passionate Byron.

His child Harold’s pilgrimage,

Forever will the world engage;

He fought with glory to release

From Turkish yoke the isles of Greece,

Its glories oft by him were sung,

This wondrous bard, alas, died young.

Tennyson

Of our Laureate we now do sing,

His youthful muse had daring wing,

He then despised Baronhood,

And sang ’twas noble to be good.

None sang like him of knights of old,

He England’s glory did uphold;

In wondrous song he hath arrayed

Glorious charge of light brigade,

And he hath the people’s benison,

Greatest of living poets Tennyson.

Dryden and Pope

Genius of Dryden and of Pope,

Both did take a mighty scope,

The first he Virgil did translate,

The second showed us Troys fate.

On English themes they oft did sing

And high their muses flight did wing.