English Poets.

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.