without doubt, is destined to grow steadily from this time forth, based as it is on poems which so perfectly and exquisitely satisfy the lyric sense and the lyric relationship between music and poetry. [Signature: Ernest Rhys] A HYMN IN PRAISE OF NEPTUNE Of Neptune's empire let us sing, At whose command the waves obey; To whom the rivers tribute pay, Down the high mountains sliding; To whom the scaly nation yields Homage for the crystal fields Wherein they dwell; And every sea-god pays a gem Yearly out of his wat'ry cell, To deck great Neptune's diadem. The Tritons dancing in a ring Before his palace gates do make The water with their echoes quake, Like the great thunder sounding: The sea-nymphs chant their accents shrill, And the Syrens, taught to kill With their sweet voice, Make every echoing rock reply, Unto their gentle murmuring noise, The praise of Neptune's empery. From 'Ward's English Poets.' OF CORINNA'S SINGING When to her lute Corinna sings, Her voice revives the leaden strings, And doth in highest notes appear As any challenged echo clear. But when she doth of mourning speak, E'en with her sighs the strings do break. And as her lute doth live and die, Led by her passions, so must I: For when of pleasure she doth sing, My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring; But if she do of sorrow speak, E'en from my heart the strings do break. From 'Ward's English Poets' FROM 'DIVINE AND MORAL SONGS' (A. H. Bullen's modern text) Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore, Never tired pilgrim's limbs affected slumber more. Than my wearied sprite now longs to fly out of my troubled breast. O come quickly, sweetest Lord, and take my soul to rest! Ever blooming are the joys of heaven's high Paradise; Cold age deafs not there our ears, nor vapor dims our eyes: Glory there the sun outshines, whose beams the Blessèd only see. O come quickly, glorious Lord, and raise my sprite to Thee! TO A COQUETTE (A. H. Bullen's modern text) When thou must home to shades of underground, And there arrived, a new admired guest, The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round, White Iope, blithe Helen, and the rest, To hear the stories of thy finished love From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move; Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights, Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make, Of tourneys and great challenges of knights, And all these triumphs for thy beauty's sake: When thou hast told these honors done to thee, Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me. SONGS FROM 'LIGHT CONCEITS OF LOVERS'