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The Candidate

This poem was written in , on occasion of the contest between the
Earls of Hardwicke and Sandwich for the High-stewardship of the
University of Cambridge, vacant by the death of the Lord Chancellor
Hardwicke. The spirit of party ran high in the University, and no
means were left untried by either candidate to obtain a majority. The
election was fixed for the th of March, when, after much
altercation, the votes appearing equal, a scrutiny was demanded;
whereupon the Vice-Chancellor adjourned the senate _sine die_. On
appeal to the Lord High-Chancellor, he determined in favour of the
Earl of Hardwicke, and a mandamus issued accordingly.

Enough of Actors--let them play the player,
And, free from censure, fret, sweat, strut, and stare;
Garrick abroad, what motives can engage
To waste one couplet on a barren stage?
Ungrateful Garrick! when these tasty days,
In justice to themselves, allow'd thee praise;
When, at thy bidding, Sense, for twenty years,
Indulged in laughter, or dissolved in tears;
When in return for labour, time, and health,

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poem by Charles Churchill
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Tolerance implies a respect for another person, not because he is wrong or even because he is right, but because he is human.

quote by John Cogley Commonweal
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Our identities have no bodies, so, unlike you, we cannot obtain order by physical coercion. We believe that from ethics, enlightened self-interest, and the commonweal, our governance will emerge.

quote by John Perry Barlow
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The Times Are Nightfall

The times are nightfall, look, their light grows less;
The times are winter, watch, a world undone:
They waste, they wither worse; they as they run
Or bring more or more blazon man’s distress.
And I not help. Nor word now of success:
All is from wreck, here, there, to rescue one—
Work which to see scarce so much as begun
Makes welcome death, does dear forgetfulness.

Or what is else? There is your world within.
There rid the dragons, root out there the sin.
Your will is law in that small commonweal…

poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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Sonnet: Goodness Prevails

Birds of the same feather flock together;
Men of goodwill work for the commonweal;
Men of evil-minds work with common zeal;
Like-minded men work in a joint manner.

A pack of Wolves attack a flock of Sheep;
Lions join forth to take on one Zebra;
Turkeys die from one poisonous Cobra;
Sinners off sin, one saintly man can keep.

Union is strength in good things or in bad,
Amidst the law-maker or law-breaker;
Groups and killers unite in this world mad;
The good do suffer but God is their Keeper!

The world looks good still ’cause of a good few;
White color lightens any other hue!

poem by John Celes
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Sonnet: Forgive Wisely

A statesman wise sees well beyond his times;
A leader great foresees the future well;
A monarch thinks of commonweal all climes;
A pope ensures that no soul lands in hell!

Sometimes, we better forget ego clash;
The world at large does matter more than self;
At times, to forgive, we must make a dash;
Forgiving brethren is better than pelf!

Let decisions be wise always in life;
We do not lose a thing in being kind;
An act of help is welcome amidst strife;
Sometimes to regulations, we needn't bind!

Let men in high authority be wise;
No man is perfect or afree of vice!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 26-06-12

poem by John Celes
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Alexander And Lycon

‘What, no crown won,
These two whole years,
By man of fortitude beyond his peers,
In Thrace or Macedon?’

‘No, none.
But what deep trouble does my Lycon feel,
And hide 'neath chat about the commonweal?’

‘Glaucé but now the third time did again
The thing which I forbade. I had to box her ears.
'Twas ill to see her both blue eyes
Settled in tears
Despairing on the skies,
And the poor lip all pucker'd into pain;
Yet, for her sake, from kisses to refrain!’

‘Ho, Timocles, take down
That crown.
No, not that common one for blood with extreme valour spilt,

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poem by Coventry Patmore
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Our First Families

SWEET are the manners of the wood,
Our only old society,
Where all the folk are glad and good
In unrebuked variety.
Within this gentle commonweal
No envy falls with fairy gold
On jewel-weed and Solomon's seal,
Moth mullein and marsh marigold.
No rubied vines despise the lot
Of ragged neighbors; whether moss
Be flat or tufted matters not,
Pale peat or glittering feather-moss.
The common milkwort holds estates
And wears his purple royalty;
The bluets keep their ancient traits
With quiet Quaker loyalty.
These families of long descent,
Our tutors in amenities,
Have pedigrees of such extent
They well may share serenities.

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poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Tom's Garland

upon the Unemployed

Tom—garlanded with squat and surly steel
Tom; then Tom’s fallowbootfellow piles pick
By him and rips out rockfire homeforth—sturdy Dick;
Tom Heart-at-ease, Tom Navvy: he is all for his meal
Sure, ’s bed now. Low be it: lustily he his low lot (feel
That ne’er need hunger, Tom; Tom seldom sick,
Seldomer heartsore; that treads through, prickproof, thick
Thousands of thorns, thoughts) swings though. Commonweal
Little I reck ho! lacklevel in, if all had bread:
What! Country is honour enough in all us—lordly head,
With heaven’s lights high hung round, or, mother-ground
That mammocks, mighty foot. But no way sped,
Nor mind nor mainstrength; gold go garlanded
With, perilous, O nó; nor yet plod safe shod sound;
Undenizened, beyond bound
Of earth’s glory, earth’s ease, all; no one, nowhere,
In wide the world’s weal; rare gold, bold steel, bare

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poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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The Lost Battle

It is not over yet-the fight
Where those immortal dreamers failed.
They stormed the citadels of night,
And the night praised them-and prevailed.
So long ago the cause was lost
We scarce distinguish friend from foe;
But-if the dead can help it most-
The armies of the dead will grow.

The world has all our banners now,
And filched our watchwords for its own.
The world has crowned the ' rebel's ' brow
And millions crowd his lordly throne.
The masks have altered. Names are names.
They praise the 'truth' that is not true.
The ' rebel' that the world acclaims
Is not the rebel Shelley knew.

We may not build that Commonweal,
We may not reach the goal we set;

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poem by Alfred Noyes
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