'^/'c^ ,5 -7^; >■ ^5^ ^.-i^ ^-^ 1¥jI# ■*^ ■ \ ^' A^' ,^^ "^. vOc '^'^ X\ ,..'«. ■/ l"^ ^'.^>/>^. 'O. ^ " r , ■^ % .♦'*' xV ,.v V , .V^' .0' s ;^Q\:^^;\ ^;^. -^ ., o ^ ,^^ 'f' c^. ^ ..'^^ \X' .c>% ^miiW V c/^„ > ^^c^. ^ >,->^fls^ '^ v.. 95, ^ -5^ j,\ .#,^ = ,0 .-V ^^ '^'^ ^^ "'c^^ V 'J- ■N^'.^:*; .ic^^.^ \/ '^^. <^' jl: -^ ^ ' i^ i ^3 J f 4 ^ i4 cJ^ ^ ^ .1 J J 4 f SELECTED AND EDITED BY JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER, M. D. ILLUSTRATED EROM ORIGINAL DESIGNS. A yjilV EDITION, REVISED A^D ENLARGED. NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER AND COMPANY. M DOCC LXVII. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by CHARLES SCRIBNER, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York, Bequest Albert Adsit Olemona Aus. 24, 1938 (Not ayailable tor exohftnge) KIVKHSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. €0 ? 2,'o (ol BENEDICTION. ■*■ Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares ! The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth, and pure deh'ght, by heavenly lays. O might my name be numbered among theirs. Then gladly would I end my mortal days ! William Wordsworih, BEQUEST. Gold I 've none, for use or show, Neither silver to bestow At my death ; but thus much know': That each lyric here shall be Of my love a legacy. Left to all posterity. Gentle Friends, then do but please To accept such coins as these. As my last remembrances. Robert Herrick. PREFACE. Reader : — I have brought you here, as one who loves you might bring you pansies and forget-me-nots, such flowers of lyric tenderness and beauty as have long been precious to my own heart, in the hope that their names and symbols may find a favored place in yours ; and I have added, here and there, some pretty waif, newly foimd by the wayside. To fit your nobler emotions, each with its appropriate inspiration or sympathy — courage for courage, brotherhood for brotherhood, resignation for resignation, love for love, whatever may make the fireside dearer for every dear association that dwells, in the form or the spirit, near it — has been my pleasant office ; and I have culled the several flowers that stand for these with a true heart of kind- liness. " Reverend Sirs, For you there's rosemary and rue ; these keep Seeming and savor, all the Winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you ! " " Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram, The marigold, that goes to bed vv^ith the sun, And with him rises, weeping: these are flowers Of middle Summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age." PREFACE. And, my Fairest Friend, I think I have some flowers o' the Spring tliat may become your time of day : — " Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty ; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses. That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength — a malady Most incident to maids ; bold oxlips, and The crown imperial ; lilies of all kinds, The tlower-de-luce being one" — with snowdrops of young purity and sinless death. Take tliese, all of you, and lay them in your bosoms. You that have lost friend or fortune, love or a darling life, shall find your proper consolation here ; and turn a kindly thought to him who, in gathering them, has hoped but to find his way to your hearts by favor of what you like the best, having never a care for the mere method of his gift — which must perforce win you, since it is alto- gether of pure love. And as for those who, with pen or pencil, have helped to make my gift more charming, no thanks of yours or mine can half so well reward them as the sense of having joined to produce a thing of beauty and a joy forever, such as a writer in Blackwood hoped for, when, in an article on " Picture-books," he wrote as follows : — " Whether it will ever be possible to make verses and pictures ' to match,' without sacrificing one of the united arts, is a question which we will not undertake to answer. It does not seem at all unreasonable, how- ever, to suppose that we, who do a great deal for money, might now and then be capable of doing a little — our very best — for love; nor that, for prp:fack. their own sakes, as well jis for the sake of the non-producing world, liter- ature and art might not sometimes make a volume — the chef-d'ceuvre, in little, of everybody employed upon it — which should remain to our chil- dren after us, the true ideal of gift-books, and console the workers in it with tlie comfortable thought of one true and worthy present, worthily accompanied, to those unknown friends for whom we make all our booka and paint all our pictures. However, no one has attempted the experi- ment ; nobody has tried to get up the ideal gift-book — the love-token worthy of all the authors and all the givers, and of the very love itself of which it should be a sign." J. W. P. CONTENTS. PACK. THE SINGERS Longfellow 3 God sent his singers upon earth PHILOMEF. A .Ma TTiiKw Ai?k<)lj> ... 5 Hark ! ah. the Nightingale ! LUCY ASHTON'S SONG Scott 6 Look not thou on Beauty's ehjirming ; THE PIPER Blakk 7 Piping down tlie valleys wild, THE AWAKENING OF ENDYMION Landox 8 Lone upon a mountain, the pine-trees wailing round him, TOMMY'S DEAD Dobkli 11 You may give over [)lougli, boys, LAMENT OF THE BORDER Wn)0\V ... Axoxvmous 15 My love he built me a bonny l)ower, THE PAUPER'S DRIVE Noki 17 There's a grim one-horse liearse in a jolly round trot : WINIFRED A Anonymous 18 Away ! let naught to love displeasing, BREAK, BREAK. BREAK ! rKXNVsox 20 THE PASSAGE Uuland. ((Jonnan.). . 21 Many a year is in its gra\e Anonynioua Traiislafion. CONTENTS PAGE THE POET'S BRIDAL-DAY SONG Cunningham 23 O, my love's like the steadfast sun, ABOU BEN ADHEM Hunt 25 Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) MONTROSE TO HIS MISTRESS 2G Marquis of Montrose. " My dear and only love, I pray TOO LATE I STAYED Spencer 27 Too late I stayed — forgive the crime; SHE IS A MAID OF ARTLESS GRACE •• Vicente. (Portuguese.) 28 Longfellow's Translation. SPRING AND WINTER Siiakspeare 29 When daisies pied, and violets blue, THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER Uhland. (German.) • • 30 Three student-comrades crossed over the Rhine ; Leland and Palmer's Translation. FAREWELL TO NANCY- • • Burns 32 Ae fond kiss — and then we sever ! THE MARINER'S WIFE Mickle 33 And are ye sure the news is true ? JENNY KISSED ME Hunt 36 Jenny kissed mc when we met, LOVE ■ Samuel Taylor Coleridge 37 All thoughts, all passions, all delights, LADY ANN BOTHWELL'S LAMENT Anonymous 41 Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe ! LITTLE AND GREAT Mackay 43 A traveller, through a dusty road, HOW STANDS THE GLASS AROUND? Anonymous 45 CONTENTS. PAGK SONG Maria Brooks 4G Day, in melting purple dying ! THE LAST LEAF Holmes 48 I saw liim once before, TO ALTHEA— FROM PRISON Lovklace • • • • 50 When Love, witii unconfined wings, TOM BOWLING • Dibdix o2 Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI • • • • Mveats ■ 53 O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms ! BABY'S SHOES Bennett • oj O those little, those little blue shoes, THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS Hood 57 One more unfortunate, THE HOLLY TREE ■ Southey Gl reader ! hast thou ever stood to see MY CHILD PiEKPONT . ■ G3 1 cannot make liim dead ! IT NEVER COMES AGAIN Stoddard • • • G6 There are gains for all our losses, THE AGE OF WISDOM Thackeray G7 Ho ! pretty page, with the dimpled chin, THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD Longfellow G9 We sat within the farm-house old, ASK ME NO MORE Tennyson • • 71 Ask me no more : the moon may draw the sea ; THE BELFRY PIGEON Willis 72 On the cross-beam under the Old South bell CONTENTS. PAGB VULCAN, CONTRIVE ME SUCH A CUP Anacreox. (Greek.)- 74 Earl of Rochester's Translation. JOHN ANDERSON Borns- • • 75 JoIiM Anderson, my jo John, J BANIE MORRISON Motiikkwkll 76. I've wandered east, I've wandered west, HESTER Lamij 80 When maidens such as Hester die. THE FAIREST THING IN MORTAL EYES 82 Duke ok Orleans. (French.) To make my lady's obsequies, Carjfs Translation. A DEATH-BED James Alduich 83 Her suffering ended witli the day ; ANNABEL LEE Poe 84 It was many and many a year ago, EDWARD, EDWARD Anonymous 85 Quhy dois zour brand sae draj) wi' bluid, I'HE BUCKET Woodwortji 88 How dear to this heart are tlie scenes oK my childhood, TO CP:LIA Phii.ostratus. (Greek.) 89 Drink to me only with thine eyes, Jonsons Translation. WHEN AVE TWO PARTED Bykon 9o TOO LATE Muj.ocH 91 Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, CHANGES Robert Bulwer Lytton 92 Whom first we love, }'ou know, we seldom wed. LOSS AND GAIN Perry 94 When tlie baby died, we said, XIV CONTENTS. PAOK THOSE EVENING BELLS Moore 95 Those evening bells ! those evening bells ! SONG Cakew 96 Ask me no more where Jove bestows, HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX Robert Browning •• • 97 I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and he: YOUTH AND AGE Samuel Taylor Coleridge 100 Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying, TO MARY Cowper 102 Tiie twentietli year is well-nigh past THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER Tennyson 104 Tt is the miller's daughter, THE SHEPHERD'S SON Baillie 105 The gowan glitters on the sward, THE LORELEI Heine. (German.) .... 107 I know not what it presages, Cranch's Translation. WITHOUT AND WITHIN James Russell Lowell 108 My coachman, in the moonlight there, SIR PATRICK SPENS Anonymous 110 Tiie king sits in Dunfermline town, AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE Hunt 115 How sweet it were, if witliout feeble fright, THE MURDERED TRAVELLER Bryant 116 When Spring, to woods and wastes around, LOVE Herve Y • . • • 118 He stood beside a cottage lone, ANGELS BY THE DOOR Barnes 120 ! there be angels e verm wore, XV CONTENTS. PACK COME BACK ! Anonymous 121 Come from your long, long roving, EPITMALAMIUM • Bkaixaud 122 I saw two clouds at morning, SONG TO MAY Loud Tiiuklow 123 May ! queen of blossoms, THE RHODORA Emkrson 124 In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, THE NIGHT PIECE Heriuck 125 Her eyes the glow-worme lend thee, HANNAH BINDING SHOES Larcom 126 Poor lone Hannah, THE LIVING LOST Bryant 128 Matron, the children of whose love, LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT Blackwood 130 I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, A CHRIS'rMAS HYMN Dommktt ■ • • • • 132 It was the calm and silent night ! THE POET'S CHRISTMAS Macfarlank ' . 134 Cold Christmas eve ! the muffled waits THE FAIRIES Allingiiam 137 Up the airy mountain, SUMMER DAYS Anonymous 140 In Summer, when the days were long, THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM Hood 142 'Twas in the prime of summer time, WHEN STARS ARE IN THE QUIET SKIES 150 Edward Bulwer Lyttox CONTENTS. PAGE MADRIGAL Anonymous 151 As I saw fair Chloris walk alone, LUCY •''- WoRDSwoRTir 152 She dwelt among the untrodden ways, THE SAILOR • Allingham • 153 Thou that hast a daughter THE MERRY CHASSEUR Dobell 155 0, a gallant sans-peur DELIGHT IN DISORDER Herrick 156 A sweet disorder in the dress THE JOINERS Palmer 157 The moon is round and big, and full TO LUCASTA Lovelace 161 Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde, THE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE Marlowe 162 Come live with me, and be my love, THE NYMPH'S REPLY Raleigh 108 If that the world and love were young, TO THE UNSATISFIED Winslow 165 Why thus longing, thus forever sighing DIRGE IN CYMBELINE Collins 167 To fair Fidele's grassy tomb THE DIRGE OF IMOGEN Shakspeare 168 Fear no more the heat o' the sun, YORK AND LANCASTER Anonymous 169 If this fair rose offend thy sight, THE SONG OF THE SHIRT Hood 170 With fingers weary and worn. CONTENTS. PAGTi ELEGY King 174 Sleep on, my love, in thy cold bed, THE DEATH-BED Hood 175 We watched her breathing through the night, AULD ROBIN GRAY Lindsay 176 When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at liame, NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAILOR ■. Campbell 178 I love contemplating, apart THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE- • -Tennyson 181 Half a league, half a league, CRADLE SONG Holland 184 What is the little one thinking about ? HE STANDETH at THE DOOR AND KNOCKETFI 186 Conk. In the silent midnight watches, THE CROOKED FOOTPATH Holmes 187 Ah, here it is ! the sliding rail VANITAS Goetfie. (Germcin.) - • ISa I've set my heart upon nothing, you see : DwIghCs Translation. THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR Feijguson 191 Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged ! 'tis at a white heat now : THE LAWLANDS O' HOLLAND Anonymous 195 The love that I hae chosen, THE FLOWER OF BEAUTY Daulev 196 Sweet in her green dell the flower of beauty shinibcr,-, POOR JACK DiHDiN 197 Go patter to lubbers and swabs, d'ye see, WE PARTED IN SILENCE Crawiord 199 We parted in silence, we parted by night, xviif CONTENTS. PAGE THE SANDS O' DEE Kingsley 200 "0 Mary, go and call the cattle home, THE RECONCILIATION TennysoxX 202 As through the land at eve we went, THE GAKRET Beranger. (French.) 203 O, it was here that Love his gifts bestowed Mahony's Translation. MAUD MULLER • Whittier 205 Maud MuUer, on a summer's day, O, WEEL BEFA' THE MAIDEN GAY Hogg 212 THE LAND O' THE LEAL -..Nairn 214 I'm wearin' awa', Jean, THE THREE SONS • Moultrie 215 I have a son, a little son, a boy just five years old, ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER • 217 Keats. Much have I travelled in the realms of gold, THE VIOLET Story 219 O faint, delicious, spring-time violet, ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL Lodge 220 Love in my bosom, like a bee, VIRTUE Herbert 221 Sweet day ! so cool, so calm, so bright, SONG Kingsley 222 The world goes up, and the world goes down, WALY, WALY, BUT LOVE BE BONNY Anonymous 223 O waly, waly up the bank, THE WELCOME Davis 225 Come in the evening, or come in the morning ; xix CONTENTS. l-AOE SONG . . Herrick 227 Gather the rosebuds as ye may: THE FISHERMEN Kingsley 228 Three fishers went saihng out into the west, OLD TIMES Griffin 229 Old times, old times, the gay old times, THE BROOK-SIDE Milnes 231 I wandered by the brook-side, THE SONG OF THE DYING •• Dowling 233 We meet 'neath the sounding rafter, A PETITION TO TIME Procter 235 Touch us gently. Time ! THE FIRST SNOW-FALL James Russell Lowell 236 The snow had begun in the gloaming, LITTLE BELL Westwood 238 Piped the blackbird on the beechwood spray : SIR MARMADUKE Colman 241 Sir Marmaduke was a hearty knight : I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER Hood 242 SONG OF THE SILENT LAND Von Salis. (German.) 244 Into the Silent Land! Longfellow's Translation. THE ONE GRAY HAIR Landor 245 The wisest of the wise THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION Wither 246 Shall I, wasting in despair, THE OLD CONTINENTALS McMastkr 247 In their ragged regimentals A CHARADE Praed 250 Come from my First — ay, come ! XX CONTENTS. PAQV. THE FADED VIOLET- • • • Thomas Bailey Aldrich 252 What thought is folded in thy leaves I 0! SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM. 253 Byron. TO PRIMROSES Herrick- • • 254 Why do ye weep, sweet babes ? Can tears TO BLOSSOMS Herrick 255 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, TO DAFFODILS • -Herrick 256 Fair daffodils, we weep to see HOW'S MY BOY? Dobell 257 " Ho, sailor of the sea ! ro THE HUMBLEBEE Emerson 259 Burly, dozing bumblebee ! (NCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP Robert Browning- • ■ 261 You know we French stormed Ratisbon. A SPINNING-WHEEL SONG John Francis Waller 263 Mellow the raoonhght to shine is beginning ; MY LOVE James Russell Lowell 265 Not as all other women are SONG - - Campbell 268 Drink ye to her that each loves best, MADAME LA MARQUISE Robert Bulwer Lytton 269 The folds of her wine-dark violet dress BEWARE Anonymous. (German.) 272 I know a maiden fair to see : Longfellow's 7'ranslation. SONG Suckling 273 Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? CONTENTS. I'ACK LEFT BEHIND Percy 274 It was the autumn of the year ; TAKE, O TAKE, THOSE LIPS AWAY- -Shakspeare and Fletcher 276 OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW- -Burns 277 OLD HoYT 278 By the wayside, on a mossy stone, NO MORE Hemans ■ • 285 No more ! a harp-string's deep and breaking tone, THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES Lamb- 287 I have had playmates, I have had companions, A SNOW-STORM Eastman 288 'Tis a fearful night in the winter time, THE OLD MAID Welby • 293 Why sits she thus in solitude? Her heart EPITAPH ON EROTION Martial. (Latin.) • • • 295 Underneath this greedy stone Hunt's Translation. BABY MAY Bennett 296 Cheeks as soft as July peaches; THE RAVEN Poe 297 Once, upon a midnight dreary, ON A GIRDLE Edmund Waller ••• • 305 That which her slender waist confined THE MOTHER'S LAST SONG Procter 306 Sleep! — The ghostly winds are blowing; AT THE CHURCH GATE Thackeray 307 Although I enter not, SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT Wordsworth 308 CONTENTS. PAGE THE MOTHER NIGHTINGALE Villegas. (Spanish.) 309 I have seen a nightingale Thomas Roscoe's Translation, MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE Motherwell 311 KORNER'S SWORD SONG Korner. (German.) •• 314 Sword at my left side gleaming ! Chorley's Translation. THE RIVER TIME Benjamin Franklin Taylor 318 O ! A wonderful stream is the River Time, GIVE ME THE OLD Messinger 319 Old wine to drink ! LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR ..-Shelley 322 I arise from dreams of thee THE BELLS OF SHANDON Mahony 323 With deep affection THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE Tennyson 326 Tears, idle tears ! I know not what they mean : THE DAY-DREAM Samuel Taylor Coleridge 327 Mine eyes make pictures when they 're shut : IF I HAD THOUGHT THOU COULDST HAVE DIED 328 Wolfe. SUMMER LONGINGS McCarthy 330 Ah ! my heart is weary waiting, THE FISHER'S COTTAGE Heine. (German.).-. 331 We sat by the fisher's cottage, Leland's Translation. WAKE, LADY • Baillie 333 Up ! quit thy bovver ! late wears the hour, THE MERRY LARK WAS UP AND SINGING 334 Kingsley. The merry, merry lark was up and singing, THE DULE'S 1' THIS BONNET O' MINE Waugh 335 CONTENTS. PAGB THE VOICELESS Holmes 336 We count the broken lyres that rest THE CAVE OF SILVER O'Brien 338 Seek rae the cave of silver ! A DIRGE ■ Webster 340. Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren, REST AND LABOR Muloch 341 " Two hands upon the breast, GULF-WEED Fenner 342 A weary weed, tossed to and fro, EXHORTATION TO PRAYER Mercer 343 Not on a prayerless bed, not on a prayerless bed THE GOOD GREAT MAN Samuel Taylor Coleridge 345 How seldom, friend, a good great man inherits DIRGE OF JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER Herrick 346 O thou, the wonder of all dayes ! THE NYMPH COMPLAINING FOR THE DEATH OF HER FAWN- 349 Marvell. The wanton troopers, riding by, THE WEEPEN LIADY Barnes 353 When Hate o' nights, above the green, DRIFTING Read 355 My soul to-day EVENING Tennyson 359 Sweet after showers, ambrosial air, UNSEEN SPIRITS Willis 360 The shadows lay along Broadway : MY LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE •.. Wilde 362 CONTENTS. FAGK THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS Longfellow 363 It was the schooner Hesperus THOU HAST SWORN BY THY GOD, MY JEANIE 367 Cunningham. WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST Scott 368 PASSING THY DOOR Swain 370 ! 'twas the world to me, BONNIE GEORGE CAMPBELL Anonymous 371 Hie upon Hielands, BLOW^ BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND Shakspeare 372 THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR Pfizer. (German.)- ■• 373 A youth, light-hearted and content, Longfellow's Translation. THE LORDS OF THULE Anonymous. (German.) 374 The Lords of Thule it did not please Anonymous Translation. THE ERL-KING Goethe. (German.) • • 375 Who rides so late through the grisly night? Martin's Translation. THE PHANTOM Bayard Taylor 377 Again I sit within the mansion, THE MORNING-GLORY Maria White Lowell 379 We wreathed about our darling's head A DIRGE William Stanley Roscoe 382 " O dig a grave, and dig it deep, OVER THE RIVER Priest 384 Over the river they beckon to me, THE BAREFOOT BOY Whittier 386 Blessings on thee, little man, FLORENCE VANE Cooke 390 1 loved thee long and dearly, CONTENIS. PAGE THE KOSE Edmund Waller 392 Go, lovely rose ! WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER •• Norton 393 SHE'S GANE TO DWALL IN HEAVEN Cunningham 394 She's gane to dwall in Heaven, my lassie ! COME, BEAUTEOUS DAY Hurlbut 395 A LITTLE WHILE Bonar 397 Beyond the smiling and the weeping LULLABY Tennyson 399 Sweet and low, sweet and low, MEA CULPA Anonymous 400 At me one night the angry moon, HYMN TO THE FLOWERS Horace Smith 401 Day-stars ! that ope your eyes with morn, to twinkle THE CROWDED STREET Bryant 404 Let me move slowly through the street, A DEAD ROSE Elizabeth Barrett Browning 406 rose ! who dares to name thee ? THE MOTHER'S FIRST GRIEF Chilton 407 She sits beside the cradle, YE MEANER BEAUTIES Wotton 409 Ye meaner beauties of the night, WIND AND RAIN Stoddard 410 Rattle the window, Winds ! A HEALTH • Pinkney 411 1 fill this cup to one made up ABSENCE Butler 412 What shall I do with all the days and hours CONTENTS. PAGK A WJSH Rogers 414 Mine be a cot beside the hill ! ODE ON SOLITUDE Pope 415 Happy the man whose wish and care BINGEN ON THE RHINE Norton 416 A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers: THE SEA Stoddard 419 Through the night, through the night, HOME, SWEET HOME Payne 420 'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE Morris 421 WHEN THE KYE COME HAME Hogg •• 42i; Come all ye jolly shepherds, THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE Norton 425 Word was brought to the Danish king, THE MAIDEN'S CHOICE Anoxnymous 427 Genteel in personage, I'M GROWING OLD • • • Saxe 428 My days pass pleasantly away, DINNA ASK ME Duxlop 430 ! dinna ask me gin I lo'e ye : SONG OF THE BROOK Tennyson 431 1 come from haunts of coot and hern ; THE WAR-SONG OF DINAS VAWR Peacock 434 The mountain sheep are sweeter, MOTHER MARGERY Burleigh 436 On a bleak ridge, from whose granite edges THE AVIDOW AND CHILD Tennyson 439 Home they brought her warrioi* dead ; xxvii CONTENTS. PAGP LOUIS XV. Sterling 440 The king, with all the kingly train, had left his Pompadour be- hind, THE WONDERFU' WEAN Miller 442 Our wean's the most wonderfu' wean e'er I saw ; THE STORMING OF MAGDEBURGH Maginn 444 When the breach was open laid, THE MINSTREL'S SONG IN ELLA Chatterton • 446 0, sing unto my roundelay ! I GIVE MY SOLDIER-BOY A BLADE Maginn 448 THE MAHOGANY TREE- •" Thackeray 449 Christmas is here : THE GRACE OF SIMPLICITY Jonson 451 Still to be neat, still to be drest JAMES MELVILLE'S CHILD Menteath 452 One time my soul was pierced as with a sword, TO MARY IN HEAVEN Burns • • 455 Thou lingering star, with lessening ray, THE SOLDIER'S DREAM Campbell 457 Our bugles sang truce ; for the night-cloud had lowered, IT IS NOT BEAUTY I DEMAND Carew 458 WILLIE WINKIE Miller 460 Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town, THE CHESS-BOARD Robert Bulwer Lytton 461 My little love, do you remember, THE ROYAL GUEST Howe 462 They tell me I am shrewd with other men ; THINK OF ME • • Reynolds 463 Go where the water glideth gently ever, xxviii CONTENTS. PAGE COME, LET US KISSE AND PAETE ! .Drayton 464 Since there 's no lielpe — come, let us kisse and parte ! QUA CUKSUM VENTUS Clough 465 As ships becalmed at eve, that lay MEETING AND PARTING Robert Browning . . 467 The gray sea, and the long black land ; FAREWELL! BUT WHENEVER YOU WELCOME THE HOUR 468 Thomas Moore. AS I LAY A-THINKING Barham 469 As I lay a-thinkiuof, a-thinkinff, a-thinking, ADIEU •' • • • Carlyle 471 Let time and chance combine, combine, WHEN YOUR BEAUTY APPEARS Pahnell 4 72 SHE IS NOT FAIR Hartley Coleridge. 473 She is not fair to outward view, THE TIGER . .Blake 473 Tiger ! tioer ! burnina- brioht, THE SEA-FIGHT Anonymous 474 Ah, yes — the fight ! Well, messmates, well ! TO PERILLA Herrick 480 Ah, my Perilla I dost thou grieve to see ON THE DEATH OF THE POET DRAKE Halleck 481 Green be the turf above tliee, THE BEGGAR'S COURAGE Rumi. (Persian.) 482 To heaven ajiproached a Suti saint, Algey's 7ransIation. THE HAPPY LIFE Wotton 483 How happy is he born and taught Nxix CONTENTS. I'AGE SONNET : ON HIS BLINDNESS Milton 484 When I consider how my light is spent, DIRGE Beddoes 485 If thou wilt ease thine heart MY RIVER MoERiKE. (German.) . 485 River ! my River, in the young sunshine I Mangans Trandation. LOVE NOT ME Anonymous 487 Love not me tor comely grace, PHILIP, MY KING Muloch 488 Look at me with thy large brown eyes, THE GIFTS OF GOD Herbert 490 When God at first made man, THE HYMN OF DAMASCENUS Damascenus. (Greek.) 491 From my lips in their defilement, Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Translation. A THANKSGIVING. Howells 493 Lord, for the erring thought EXCELSIOR Longfellow 493 The shaded of ni^ht were falling fast, THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDAS Marvell 495 Where the remote Bermudas lide SABINA Congreve 497 See, see ! She wakes — Sabina wakes I THE CALL Darley 497 Awake thee, my lady-love, THE RIVER-GOD TO AMORET Fletcher 498 I am this fountain's god. Below, TO CYNTHIA Jonsox 500 Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, XXX CONTENTS. PAGE TO THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET -Huxt 501 Green little vaulter in the sunny grass, PASSING THE ICEBERGS Read 501 A fearless shape of brave device, A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE Anonymous • 505 This ae nighte, this ae nighte, BUGLE SONG Tennyson 506 The splendor falls on castle walls ECHO AND SILP:NCE Brydges 507 In eddying course when leaves began to fly, INVOCATION OF SILENCE Flecknoe 508 Still-born Silence I thou that art WISHES, Crashaw 508 Whoe'er she be, ARAB LOVE Shelley 514 My faint spirit was sitting in the light THE MIGHT OF ONE FAIR FACE Michael Angelo. (Italian). 515 The might of one fair face sublimes my love. Hartley Coleridge's Translation. TIBBIE Burns 516 Tibbie, I hae seen the day WHEN THE SULTAN GOES TO ISPAHAN ..Thomas B. Aldrich- 518 When the Sultan Shah-Zaraan THE ANGEL Blake 520 1 dreamed a dream — what can it mean? MY LADY SINGING De Vere 521 She whom this heart must ever hold most dear xxxi CONTENTS. PAGE THE SWORD OF CASTRUCCTO CASTRUCANI 521 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. When Victor Emmanuel, the king, SONG OF ARIEL Shakspeare 523 Full fathom tive thy father lies ; THE PARTING LOVERS Anonymous. (Chinese.) 524 She says, the cock crows — hark ! Alger's I'ranslation. THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN W^ords worth 525 At the corner of Wood Street, when davlight appears, THE ANGLER'S WISH- Walton 526 I in these flowery meads would be ; FOR CHARLIE'S SAKE Palmer 527 The night is late, the house is still ; MARIAN'S SONG Rossetti 530 Deeper than the hail can smite, MATIN HYMN Herbert 531 I cannot ope mine eyes THE GENTLE SOUL Eedi. (Italian.) 532 Ye gentle souls ! ye love-devoted fail- ! Landors Translation. TO KEEP A TRUE LENT Herrick 533 Is this a fast : to keei) THE EMIGRANTS Freiligrath. (German.) 534 I cannot take my eyes away Charles T. Brooks's Translation. TO THE NIGHTINGALE Milton 536 O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray THE DWINA Countess Orloff. (Russian.; 537 Stony-browed Dwina, thy face is as flint I Mrs. Ogilvie's Translation. xxxii CONTENTS. PAGE SONG OF FAIRIES Randolph. (Latin.) . . 540 We the fairies, blithe and antic. HunCs Translation. SIR PETER Peacock 540 In his last bin Sir Peter lies, ARMSTRONG'S GOOD-NIGHT Anonymous 541 This night is my departing night, THE LEGEND OF THE STEPMOTHER Buchanan 542 As I lay asleep, as I lay asleep, THE KNIGHT'S TOMB : . . .Samuel Taylor Coleridge 546 Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn ? KULNASATZ, MY REINDEER Anonymous. (Icelandic ) 54 7 Anonymous Translation. THE ROSEBUD Keble 548 When Nature tries her finest touch, UP-HILL RossETTi 551 Does the road wind up-hill all the way ? THE SENTRY Heine. (German.) ... 55 > My heart, my heart is weary ; Leland's Translation. THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US Wordsworth 55;i The world is too much with us : late and soon, SONG Heyw^ood 554 Pack, clouds, away ! and welcome, day ! BOATMAN'S HYMN Anonymous. (Irish.) . 555 Bark, that bears me through foam and squall, Ferguson's Translation. NEARER TO THEE Adams 557 Nearer, my God, to Thee, THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE 55.S Ingelow. The old mayor climbed the belfrey tower, e xxxiii CONTENTS. PAGE COME, SLEEP, O SLEEP Sidney 565 Come, Sleep, O Sleep ! the certain knot of peace, HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE Collins 566 How sleep the brave, who sink to rest SONG Da YEN ANT 566 The lark now leaves his watery nest. JO IDEJE LEMENT A NAP Petofi. (Hungarian.) 567 All the earth is wrapped in shadows, Bowring's Translation. THE SABBATH MORNING Leyden 568 With silent awe I hail the saered morn, THE SABBATH Edward Bulwer Lytton 569 Fresh glides the brook, and blows the gale, THE PRIEST Breton 570 I would I were an excellent divine, THE MAKING OF MAN Swinburne 572 Before tlie beginning of years SEVEN TIMES ONE Ingelow 574 There 's no dew left on the daisies and clover. AH, CHLORIS Sedley 576 Ah, C'iiloiis ! that I now could sit SIXTEEN Landor 577 In Clementina's artless micu IN YAIN YOU TP:LL Prior 578 In vain you tell your parting lover THE LOVER TO THE GLOW-WORMS Marvell 579 Ye living lamps, by whose dear light THE WEE GREEN NEUK Bailey 579 the wee gre'en neuk, the sly green neuk, xxxiv CONTENTS. PAGE WHEN I COME HOME ^ Massey 581 Around me Life's hell of fierce ardors burns, CALM IS THE NIGHT . .Heine. (German.) ... 583 Calm is tlie night, and the city is sleeping. Leland's Translation. IF I DESIRE WITH PLEASAN^T SONGS Burbidge 584 THE UN^DISCO VERED COUN^TRY Stedman 585 Could we but know THE JOLLY OLD PEDAGOGUE Arnold 586 'T was a jolly old pedagogue, long ago, BESIDE THE SEA Winter 589 They walked beside the Summer sea, CAUGHT Stoddard 590 Bii'ds are singing round my window, A DEDICATION Swinburne 590 The sea gives her sliells to the shingle, THE LAST POET Von Auersperg. (German.) 594 '•When will your bards be weary Frothingham' s Translation. ILLUSTRATIONS. Subject Drawn by Engraved by Pagi Title-Page White Van Ingen ^ Snyder The Singers. " To charm, to strengthen, and to teach.". . .Macdonough . . .Anthony 3 Tommy's Dead Eytinge Anthony 11 Break, Break, Break! " On thy cold gray stones, O Sea ! " Parsons Anthony 20 " And the stately ships go on " Parsons Anthony 21 The Landlady's Daughter Nasi Anthony 31 Jenny Kissed Me Hoppin Bohhett ^ Hooper ... 36 The Last Leaf Hennessy inthony 48 The Bridge of Sighs Eytinge inthony 57 The Age of Wisdom Eytinge Anthony 67 Jeanie Morrison Boughton Andrew ^ Filmer. . . 78 Edward, Edward Ehninger Hayei^ 87 How they Brought the Good News. " ' Good speed ! ' cried the watch " Heine Cox 97 *' As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground ; " Meffert Cox 99 Without and Within. *' My coachman, in the moonlight there,".. ..McLenan Anthony 108 " The galley-slave of dreary forms." Ehninger Kinnersley 110 The Murdered Traveller McEntee. Cox 116 Hannah Binding Shoes Hoppin Cox 1 26 The Fairies Belleiv Cox 139 Lucy Macdonough .... Andrew Sf Filmer. . . 152 ILLUSTRATIONS. Subject ' Drawn by Engravbd bt Pacis The Joiners. " The moon is round and big," Macdonough . . Anthony 157 " Two figures cross the Joiner's sill,'" Macdonough . . . Anthony 159 " Her vacant breast But coldly welcomes 'the coming guest;'". .Macdonough inthony 161 The Song of the Shirt Iloppin Anthony 170 The Charge of the Light Bvug adk . Meffert Andrew ^ Filmer. .. 182 Vanitas Ehninger J. H. Whitney 189 The Sands o' Dee. " O Mary, go and call the cattle home,". . . Macdonough . . . Anthony 200 " The creeping tide came up along the sand," Macdonough . . . Cox 201 " Her grave beside the sea ; '" Macdonough . . . Cox 202 Maud Muller. " The meadow, sweet with hay." Hill Andreio ^ Filmer. . . 205 " A form more fair, a face more sweet," .... Macdonough . . . Anthony 208 " The little spring-brook " Hill Bohbett ^ Hooper ... 210 On first Looking into Chapman's Homer Chapman ..... Hayes 218 The Welcome Macdonough . . . Langridge 226 The Brook-Side Smillie Anthony 231 Sir Marmaduke Nast Anthony 241 The Old Continentals. " Then the bareheaded Colonel " Darley Anthony 249 The Drummer Darley Anthony 250 How's My Boy ? Macdonough . . . Kinnersley 257 A Spinning- Wheel Song Hennessy Bobbett ^ Hooper . . 264 Song. " Drink ye to her that each loves best,". . . . Wallin Anthony 268 Tail-piece Wallin Anthony 269 Old. " One sweet spirit broke the silent spell ; ". . Hennessy Cox 279 " Brook, and bridge, and barn," Barry Cox 282 A Snow-Storm. " *Tis a fearful night in the winter time," . . . McEntee Cox 288 " Cold and dead, by the hidden log," McEntee Cox 291 xxxvii ILLUSTRATIONS. Subject Drawn by Engraved by Page On a Girdle Hoppin Cox 305 Korner's Sword So^G. Initial Letter Heine Cox 314 Tail-piece Reine Cox 317 Lines to an Indian Air Leon Job Bobhett cV Hooper. . -322 Wake, Lady ! Fenn [Vard 333 Gulf- Weed Parsons Bobbett ^' Hooper. . 342 Evening Church Bobbett ^' Hooper. . 359 The Erl-King Meffert L H. Whitney 376 The Barefoot Boy Johnson Andrew ^-Film^r . . 386 Lullaby Macdonough .... Langridge 399 Wind and Rain Kensett Anthony 410 BiNGEN ON THE RhINE. " A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers : " Meffert bobbett ^- Hooper. . 416 '' Tell my sister not to weep for me," Meffert .Bobbett ^^ Hoopter. . 418 " Fair Bingen on the Rhine." Meffert Cox 419 Song of the Brook Smillie Cox 431 James Melville's Child Ehninger Hayes. 454 Qua Cursum Ventus Parsons Langridge 465 The Sea-Fight Ehninger Kinnersley 47 7 Philip, My King E. J. Whitney. . .Hayes 488 Passing the Icebergs Fenn Hayes 503 Tibbie Ehninger -J. H. Whitney 516 The Angler's Wish . Ward Ward 526 The Emigrants Ward Ward 535 The Knight's Tomb Fenn Ward 546 Boatman's Hymn Parsons Langridge 556 Seven Times One E. J. Whitney . . . Hayes 574 Calm is the Night E. .L Whitney . . .Kingdon ^ Boyd. . . 583 xxxviii AUTOGRAPHS. (LITHOGRAPHED BY ENDICOTT AND COMPANY.) v] THE SINGERS Longfellow, Frontispiece \i ABOU BEN ADHEM : Leigh Hunt, to face page 25 ^ ASK ME NO MORE Tennyson, " 71 \y HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS Robert Bkoavntng, • 97 ^ THE LIVING LOST Bryant, " 128 ^THE SONG OF THE SHIRT Hood, « 170 ^ THE SANDS O' DEE Kingsley, " 200 ^ MAUD MULLER Whittier. « 211 ^j THE FIRST SNOW-FALI Lowell, " 236 i TO THE HUMBLEBEE Emerson, " 259 'i THE MOTHER'S LAST SONG Barry Cornwall, - 306 \) THE VOICELESS Holmes, " 336 ^ UNSEEN SPIRITS Willis, " 360 V FLORENCE VANE Cooke. " 390 >y HOHE, SWEET HOME! Payne. " 420 ^ON THE DEATH OF THE POET DRAKE Halleck, " 481 /the SWORD OF CASTRUCCIO CASTRUCANI " 523 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. CAUGHT ! Stoddakd " 590 THE ARRANGEMENT. " Meth OUGHT that of these visionary flowers I made a nosegay, bound in such a way That the same hues, which in their natural bowers Were mingled or opposed, the like array Kept these imprisoned children of the Hours Within my hand ; and then, elate and gay, I hastened to the spot whence I had come, That I might there present it — O ! to whom ? " Percy Bysshe Shelley. jfolfe^^ongs. Ck0imj@Slr^^^TO^^^@|ea(glft THE SINGERS. God sent his singers upon earth With sonps of sadness and of mirth THE SINGERS. That they might touch the hearts of men, And brmg them back to heaven again. The first, a youth with soul of fire, Held in his hand a golden lyre ; Through groves he wandered, and by streams. Playing the music of our dreams. The second, with a bearded face. Stood singing in the market-place. And stirred, with accents deep and loud. The hearts of all the listening crowd. A gray old man, the third and last. Sang in cathedrals dim and vast. While the majestic organ rolled Contrition from its mouths of gold. And those who heard the Singers tliree Disputed which the best might be ; For still their music seemed to start Discordant echoes in each heart. But the great Master said, "I see No best in kind, but in degree ; I gave a various gift to each : To charm, to strengthen, and to teach. " These are the three great chords of might ; And he whose ear is tuned aright Will hear no discord in the three. But the most perfect harmony." Henry AVadsvvorth Longfellow. PHILOMELA. Hark ! ah, the Nightingale ! The tawny-throated ! Hark ! from that moonht cedar what a burst ! What triumph ! hark — what pain ! O wanderer from a Grecian shore, Still, after many years, in distant lands, Still nourishing in thy bewildered brain That wild, unquenched, deep-sunken, old-world pain ! Say, will it never heal ? And can this fragrant lawn. With its cool trees, and night, And the sweet, tranquil Thames, And moonshine, and the dew. To thy racked heart and brain Afford no balm? Dost thou to-night behold. Here, through the moonlight on this English grass. The unfriendly palace in the Thracian wild ? Dost thou again peruse. With hot cheeks and seared eyes, The too clear web, and thy dumb sister's shame? Dost thou once more essay Thy flight; and feel come over thee, Poor ftigitive, the feathery change. Once more ; and once more make resound, a2 5 LUCY ASHTON'S SONG. With love and hate, triumph and agony, Lone Daulis, and the high Cephisian vale? Listen, Eugenia ! How thick the bursts come crowding through the leaves ! Again — thou hearest? Eternal passion ! Eternal pain ! Matthew Arnold. LUCY ASHTON'S SONG. Look not thou on Beauty's charming ; Sit thou still when kings are arming ; Taste not when the wine-cup glistens ; Speak not when the people listens ; Stop thine ear against the singer ; From the red gold keep thy finger : Vacant heart and hand and eye Easy live, and quiet die. Sir Walter Scott. THE PIPER. Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he, laughing, said to me : " Pipe a song about a lamb." So I piped with merry cheer. " Piper, pipe that song again." So I piped ; he wept to hear. " Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe ; Sing thy songs of happy cheer." So I sang the same again, While he wept with joy to hear. " Piper, sit thee down and write. In a book, that all may read." So he vanished from my sight. And I plucked a hollow reed. And I made a rural pen ; And I stained the water clear ; And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear. William Hlakk. THE AWAKENING OF ENDYMION Lone upon a mountain, the pine-trees wailing round him, Lone upon a mountain the Grecian youth is laid ; Sleep, mystic sleep, for many a year has bound him, Yet his beauty, like a statue's, pale and fair, is undecayed. When will he awaken ? When will he awaken? a loud voice hath been crying Night after night — and the cry has been in vain ; Winds, woods, and waves found echoes for replying, But the tones of the beloved one were never heard again. When will he awaken ? Asked the midnight's silver queen. Never mortal eye has looked upon his sleeping ; Parents, kindred, comrades, have mourned for him as dead ; By day the gathered clouds have had him in their keeping. And at night the solemn shadows round his rest are shed. When will he awaken ? Long has been the cry of faithful Love's imploring ; Long has Hope been watching with soft eyes fixed above. When will the Fates, the life of life restoring, Own themselves vanquished by much-enduring Love? When will he awaken ? Asks the midnight's weary queen. 8 THE AWAKENING OF ENDYMION. Beautiful the sleep that she has watched untiring, Lighted up with visions from yonder radiant sky, Full of an immortal's glorious inspiring. Softened by the woman's meek and loving sigh. When will he awaken ? He has been dreaming of old heroic stories, The Poet's passionate world has entered in his soul ; He has grown conscious of life's ancestral glories. When sages and when kings first upheld the mind's controh When will he awaken ? Asks the midnight's stately queen. Lo, the appointed midniglit ! the present hour is fated ! It is Endymion's planet that rises on the an* ; How long, how tenderly his goddess love has waited, Waited with a love too mighty for despair ! Soon he will awaken. Soft amid the pines is a sound as if of singing. Tones that seem the lute's from the breathing flowers depart ; Not a wind that wanders o'er Mount Latmos but is bringing Music that is murmured from Nature's inmost heart. Soon he will awaken To his and midnight's queen. Lovely is tlie green earth — she knows the liour is holy ; Starry are the heavens, lit with eternal joy ; Light like their own is dawning sweet and slowly O'er the fair and sculptured forehead of that yet dreaming boy. Soon he will awaken. THE AWAKENING OF ENDYMION. Red as the red rose toward the mornmg turning, Warms the youth's hp to the watcher's near his own ; While the dark eyes open — bright, intense, and burning With a Hfe more glorious than, ere they closed, was known. Yes, he has awakened For the midnight's happy queen ! What is this old history, but a lesson given, How true love still conquers by the deep strength of truth ; How all the impulses, whose native home is heaven. Sanctify the visions of hope, and faith, and youtli ? 'Tis for such they waken. When every woi'ldly thought is utterly forsaken, Comes the starry midnight, felt, by life's gifted few; Then will the spirit from its earthly sleep awaken To a being more intense, more spiritual, and true. So doth the soul awaken. Like that youth to night's fair queen! Letitia Elizabeth Landon 10 TOMMY'S DEAD. You may give over plough, boys, You may take the gear to the stead ; All the sweat o' your brow, boys. Will never get beer and bread. The seed's waste, I know, boys ; There's not a blade will grow, boys ; 11 TOMMY'S DEAD. 'Tis cropped out, I trow, boys ; And Tommy's dead. Send the colt to the fair, boys : He's going bhnd, as I said ; My old eyes can't bear, boys, To see him in the shed. The cow's dry and spare, boys ; She's neither here nor there, boys : I doubt she's badly bred. Stop the mill to-morn, boys , There'll be no more corn, boys. Neither white nor red. There's no sign of grass, boys ; You may sell the goat and the ass, boys The land's not what it was, boys ; And the beasts must be fed. You may turn Peg away, boys ; You may pay oflP old Ned. We've had a dull day, boys ; And Tommy's dead. Move my chair on the floor, boys : Let me turn my head ; She's standing there in the door, boys — Your sister Winifred ! Take her away from me, boys — Your sister Winifred ! (Move me round in my place, boys : Let me turn my head ;) Take her aAvay from me, boys — 12 TOMMY'S DEAD. As she lay on her death-bed : The bones of her thin face, boys, As she lay on her death-bed ! I don't know how it be, boys. When all's done and said. But I see her looking at me, boys, Wherever I turn my head : Out of the big oak-tree, boys. Out of the garden-bed ; And the lily as pale as she, boys, And the rose that used to be red. There's something not right, boys. But I think it's not m my head ; I've kept my precious sight, boys ; The Lord be hallowed ! Outside and in The ground is cold to my tread ; The hills are wizen and thin, The sky is shrivelled and shred ; The hedges down by the loan, I can count them bone by bone ; The leaves are open and spread. But I see the teeth of the land. And hands like a dead man's hand. And the eyes of a dead man's head. There's nothing but cinders and sand ; The rat and the mouse have fled. And the summer's empty and cold ; Over valley and wold. Wherever I tui'n my head, «b2 13 TOMMY'S DEAD. There's a mildew and a mould; The smi's going out over head, And I'm very old ; And Tommy's dead. What am I staying for, boys ? You're all born and bred ; 'Tis fifty years and more, boys, Since wife and I were wed ; And she's gone before, boys ; And Tommy's dead. She was always sweet, boys. Upon his curly head ; She knew she'd never see't, boys. And she stole off to bed ; I've been sitting up alone, boys. For he'd come home, he said ; But it's time I was gone, boys. For Tommy's dead. Put the shutters up, boys : Bring out the beer and bread ; Make haste and sup, boys. For my eyes are heavy as lead ; There's something wrong i' the cup, boys, There's something ill wi' the bread; I don't care to sup, boys ; And Tommy's dead. I'm not right, I doubt, boys, I've such a sleepy head ; 14 I LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW. I shall never more be stout, boys ; You may carry me to bed. What are you about, boys ? The prayers are all said. The fire's raked out, boys ; And Tommy's dead. The stairs are too steep, boys, You may carry me to the head ; The night's dark and deep, boys, Your mother's long in bed ; 'Tis time to go to sleep, boys ; And Tommy's dead. I'm not used to kiss, boys ; You may shake my hand instead. All things go amiss, boys ; You may lay me where she is, boys. And I'll rest my old head. 'Tis a poor world, this, boys ; And Tommy's dead. Sydnp:y Dobkll. LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW. My love he built me a bonny bower, And clad it a' wi' lilye flour ; A brawer bower ye ne'er did see Than my true love he buih for me. 15 LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW. There came a man, by middle day ; He spied liis sport, and went away ; And brought the king that very night. Who brake my bower, and slew my knight. He slew my knight, to me sae dear ; He slew my knight, and poined his gear ; My servants all for life did flee. And left me in extremitie. I sewed his sheet, making my mane ; I watched the corpse, myself alane ; I watched his body, night and day ; No living creature came that way. I took his body on my back. And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat ; 1 digged a grave, and laid him in, ^ And happed him wi' the sod sae green. But think na ye my heart was sair. When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair ? O think na ye my heart was wae. When I turned about, away to gae ? Nae living man I'll love again. Since that my lovely knight is slain ; Wi' ae lock of his yellow hair I'll chain my heart for evermair. Anonymous. 16 THE PAUPER'S DRIVE. There's a grim one-horse hearse in a jolly round trot : To the churchyard a pauper is going, I wot ; The road it is rough, and the hearse has no springs ; And hark to the dirge which the mad driver sings : Rattle his bones over the sto7ies ! Hes only a pauper^ whom nobody owns ! O, where are the mourners ? Alas ! there are none : He has left not a gap in the world, now he's gone — Not a tear in the eye of child, woman, or man ; To the grave with his carcass as fast as you can. Rattle his bones over the stoyies ! He^s only a pauper^ whom nobody owns ! What a jolting, and creaking, and splashing, and din ! Tlie whip, how it cracks ! and the wheels, how they spin ! How the dirt, right and left, o'er the hedges is hurled ! Tlie pauper at length makes a noise in the world. Rattle his bones over the stones ! Hes only a pauper^ whom nobody owns ! Poor ])aiiper defunct ! he has made some api)roacli To gentility, now that he's stret(;hed in a coach. He's takiiio- a drive in his carriao-e at last; But it will not be long, if he goes on so fast. Rattle his bones over tlie stones ! lies only a pauper^ whom nohod^y oivns ! C 17 WINIFREDA. You bumpkins, who stare at your brother conveyed, Behold what respect to a cloddy is paid ! And be joyful to think, when by death you're laid low, You've a chance to the grave like a gemman to go. Rattle Ms bones over the stones ! Hes only a pauper^ whom nohody owns ! l^ut a truce to this strain ; for my soul it is sad. To think that a heart in humanity clad Should make, like the brutes, such a desolate end. And depart from the light without leaving a friend ! Bear soft his hones over the stones ! Though a pauper^ he''s one whom his Maker yet owns ! Tjiomas Nokl. WINIFREDA. Away ! let naught to love displeasing. My Winifreda, move your care ; Let naught delay the heavenly blessing. Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear. What though no grants of royal donors With pompous titles grace our blood ; We'll shine in more substantial honors. And to be noble we'll be o;ood. 18 WINIFREDA. Our name, while virtue thus we tender, Will sweetly sound where'er 'tis spoke ; And all the great ones, they shall wonder How they respect such little folk. What though from fortune's lavish bounty No mighty treasures we possess ; We'll find within our pittance plenty. And be content without excess. Still shall each kind returning season Sufficient for our wishes give ; For we will live a life of reason. And that's the only life to live. Through youth and age in love excelling. We'll hand in hand together tread; Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling. And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed. How should I love the pretty creatures, While round my knees they fondly clung, To see them look their mother's features. To hear them lisp their mother's tongue ! And when with envy. Time, transported. Shall think to rob us of our joys. You'll in your girls again be courted. And I'll go wooing in my boys. Anonymous. 19 BREAK, BREAK, BREAK! Break, break, break, On tliy cold gray stones, O Sea ! And I would that my tongue could utter The thouo-hts that arise in me. O well for the fisherman's boy. That he shouts with his sister at play! O well for the sailor lad. That he sings in his boat on the bay ! 20 THE PASSACJIC. And the stately ships go on To the haven under the hill ; But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break. At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. Alfred Tknnyson THE PASSAGE. Many a year is in its grave Since I crossed this restless wave , And the evening, fair as ever. Shines on ruin, rock, and river, •21 THE PASSAGE. Then, in this same boat beside, Sat two comrades old and tried : One with all a father's truth, One with all the fire of youth. One on earth in silence wrought, And his grave in silence sought ; But the younger, brighter form Passed in battle and in storm. So, whene'er I turn my eye Back upon the days gone by. Saddening thoughts of friends come o'er me. Friends that closed their course before me. But what binds us, friend to friend. But that soul with soul can blend? Soul-like were those hours of yore ; Let us walk in soul once more. Take, O boatman, thrice thy fee: Take — I give it willingly ; For, invisible to thee. Spirits tAvain have crossed with me. JoHANN LuDWiG UnLAND. (German.) Anonymous Translation. 22 THE POETS BRIDAL-DAY SONG. O, MY love's like the steadfast sun, Or streams that deepen as they run ; Nor hoary hairs, nor forty years. Nor moments between sighs and tears. Nor nights of thought, nor days of pain, Nor dreams of glory dreamed in vain, Nor mirth, nor sweetest song that flows To sober joys and soften woes, Can make my heart or fancy flee. One moment, my sweet wife, from thee. Even while I muse, I see thee sit In maiden bloom and matron wit ; Fair, gentle, as when first I sued. Ye seem, but of sedater mood ; Yet my heart leaps as fond for thee, As when, beneath Arbigland tree, We stayed and wooed, and thought the moon Set on the sea an hour too soon ; Or lingered 'mid the falling dew. When looks were fond and words were few. Though I see smiling at thy feet, Five sons and ae fair daughter sweet. And time and care and birthtime woes Have dimmed thine eye and touched thy rose, 23 THE POET'S BRIDAL-DAY SONG. To thee, and thoughts of thee, belong Whate'er charms me in tale or song. When words descend like dews, misought, With gleams of deep, enthusiast thought, And Fancy in her heaven flies free. They come, my love, they come from thee, O, when more thought we gave, of old. To silver, than some give to gold, 'Twas sweet to sit and ponder o'er How we should deck our humble bower; 'Twas sweet to pull, in hope, with thee. The golden fr-uit of Fortune's tree ; And sweeter still to choose and twine A garland for that brow of thine, A song- wreath which may grace my Jean, While rivers flow, and woods grow green. At times there come, as come there ought. Grave moments of sedater thought. When Fortune frowns, nor lends our night One gleam of her inconstant light ; And Hope, that decks the peasant's bower. Shines like a rainbow through the shower. then I see, while seated nigh, A mother's heart shine in thine eye. And proud resolve and purpose meek Speak of thee more than words can s])eak. 1 think this wedded wife of mine. The best of all that's not divine. Allan Cunningham. 24 ^ejilj] lii. CMil,^ m^ yji^ /H^t. ^, ABOU BEN ADHEM. Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw within the moonhght in his room, Making it rich, and Hke a hly in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold : Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold. And to the Presence in the room he said, "What writest thou?" — The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord. Answered — " The names of those who love the Lord." " And is mine one ? " said Abou ; " Nay, not so," Replied the angel. — Abou spoke more low. But cheerly still ; and said, " I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night It came again, with a great wakening light. And showed the names whom love of God had blessed; And lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest! Lkigii Hunt. 2a MONTROSE TO HIS MISTRESS. My dear and only love, I pray That little world of thee Be governed by no other sway But purest monarchy ; For if confusion have a part, Which virtuous souls abhor, I'll call a synod in my heart. And never love thee more. As Alexander I will reign, And I will reign alone ; My thoughts did evermore disdain A rival on my throne. He either fears his fate too much. Or his deserts are small. Who dares not put it to the touch, To gain or lose it all. But I will reign and govern still, And always give the law. And have each subject at my will, And all to stand in awe ; But 'gainst my batteries if I find Thou storm or vex me sore, As if thou set me as a blind, I'll never love thee more. 2fi TOO LATE I STAYED. And in the empire of thy heart, Where I should solely be, If others do pretend a part. Or dare to share with me ; Or committees if thou erect, Or go on such a score, I'll smiling mock at thy neglect. And never love thee more. But if no faithless action stain Thy love and constant word, I'll make thee famous by my pen. And glorious by my sword ; I'll serve thee in such noble ways As ne'er was known before ; I'll deck and crown thy head witli bays, And love thee more and more. James Grahame, Marquis of Montrosk. TOO LATE 1 STAYED. Too late I stayed — forgive the crime; Unheeded flew the hours : How noiseless falls the foot of Time That only treads on flowers ! And who, with clear account, remarks The ebbings of his glass, When all its sands are diamond sparks, That dazzle as they ])ass? 27 SHE IS A MAID OF ARTLESS GRACE. All ! who to sober measurement Time's ha]3py swiftness brings, When birds of paradise have lent Their plumage to his wings ? Robert William Spencer. SHE IS A MAID OF ARTLESS GRACE. She is a maid of artless grace, Gentle in form, and fair of face. Tell me, thou ancient mariner, That sailest on the sea. If ship, or sail, or evening star. Be half so fan* as she ! Tell me, thou gallant cavalier, Whose shining arms I see, If steed, or sword, or battle-field, Be half so fair as she ! Tell me, thou swain, that guard'st thy flock Beneath the shadowy tree. If flock, or vale, or mountain-ridge, Be half so fair as she ! Gil Vicente. (Portuguese.) Translation of Henuy Waoswortit Longfkllow. 28 i SPRING AND WINTER I. When daisies pied, and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue. Do paint the meadows with delight. The cuckoo then, on every tree. Mocks married men, for thus sings he : Cuckoo ! Cuckoo, cuckoo ! — O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear! When shepherds pipe on oaten straws. And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws. And maidens bleach their summer smocks. The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he : Cuckoo ! Cuckoo, cuckoo ! — O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear ! II. When icicles hang by the wall. And Dick the she})herd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall. And milk comes frozen home in pail, D-2 29 THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER. When blood is nipped, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl : To-who ! Tu-whit, to-who ! — a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow. And Marian's nose looks red and raw ; When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl. Then nightly sings the staring owl : To-who ! Tu-whit, to-who ! — a merry note. While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. SlIAKSPKAKE. THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER. Three student-comrades crossed over the Rhine : Together they stopped at a landlady's sign. " Landlady, have you good ale and wine ? And where is that pretty young daughter of thine } " My ale and wine are fresh and clear ; My daughter lies on her funeral bier.'' And when they passed to the chamber back, There she lay, in her coffin black ! 30 THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER. The first from her face tlie shroud-veil took, And gazed upon her — a mournful look. " Ah ! wert thou but living, thou lovely maid, I would love thee from this time," he said. The second covered the altered face. And turned him, weeping, from the place : " That thou should'st lie on tlic funeral bier, Whom I have loved this many a year I " FAREWELL TO NANCY. But the last still snatched away the veil, And kissed her on the mouth so pale : "I loved thee ever — still I love thee, Thee will I love through eternity ! " JoHANN LuDWiG Unr.AND. (German.) Tnuisliition of C. G. Lei-and iiiul J. W. Palmer. FAREWELL TO NANCY. Ae fond kiss — and then we sever! Ae fareweel — alas, forever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge tliee ; Warrino; si^hs and groans I'll wao;e thee. Who shall say that Fortune grieves him. While the star of hope she leaves him? Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ; Dark despair around benights me. I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy ; Naething could resist my Nancy : But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love forevei-. Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met — or never parted. We had ne'er been broken-hearted. I THE MARINER'S WIFE. Fare thee weel, tliou first and fairest ! Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! Thine be ilka joy and treasure, Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure ! Ae fond Idss — and then we sever! Ae fareweel — alas, forever ! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee ; Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. RoHKRT Burns. THE MARINER'S WH^E. And are ye sure the news is true? And are ye sure he's weel ? Is this a time to talk o' wark ? Ye jades, fling by your wheel ! For there's 7iae lack about the hotise^ There's 7iae luck ava ; There's little pleasure in the house When our gudema7i's awa\ Is this a time to think o' wark. When Colin's at the door ? Kax down my cloak — I'll to the quay, And see him come ashore. Kise up and mak a clean fireside, Put on the nuickle pot, 3;i THE MARINER'S WIFE. Gie little Kate her cotton gown, And Jock his Sunday coat ; And mak their shoon as black as slaes. Their hose as white as snaw ; It's a' to please my ain gudeman, He likes to see them braw. There's twa fat hens into the crib, Been fed this month and mair; Mak haste and thra their necks about, That Colin weel may fare. And spread the table neat and clean, Gar ilka thing look braw ; It's a' for love of my gudeman, For he's been lang awa'. O gie me down my bigonet. My bishop-satin gown, And rin and tell the baillie's Avife, Tliat Colin's come to town. My Sunday shoon they maun gae on, My hose o' pearl blue ; It's a' to please my ain gudeman. For he's baith leal and true. Sae true his words, sae smooth his speech, His breath like caller air ! 34 THE MARINER'S WIFE. His very foot has music in't, When he comes up the stair. And will I see his face again ? And will I hear him speak ? I'm downright dizzy with the thought • In troth I'm like to greet. The cauld blasts of the winter wind That thrilled through my heart, They're a' blawn by ; I hae him safe : Till death we'll never part. But what puts parting in my head ? It may be far awa' : The present moment is our ain ; The neist we never saw. Since Colin's weel, I'm weel content : I hae nae mair to crave ; Could I but live to mak him blest, I'm blest aboon the lave. And will I see his face again ? And will I hear him speak ? I'm downright dizzy with the thought : In troth I'm like to greet. William Julius Mickle. lib JENNY KISSED ME. Ji'.NNY kissed me when we met, Jumping from the chair she sat in ; Time, you thief, who love to get Sweets into your hst, put that in ! Say I'm weary, say I'm sad ; Say that health and wealth have missed me ; Say I'm growing dull, but add, Jenny kissed me ! Lkigfi Hunt. 86 LOVE. All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour. When midway on the mount I lay. Beside the ruined tower. The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve ; And she was there — my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve ! She leaned against the armed man. The statue of the armed knight ; She stood and listened to my lay. Amid the linperino; light. Few sorrows hath she of her own, My hope, my joy, my Genevieve ! She loves me best whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve. LOVE. I played a soft and doleftil air ; I sang an old and moving story : An old, rude song, that suited well That ruin wild and hoary. She listened with a flitting blush. With downcast eyes and modest grace ; For well she knew I could not choose But gaze upon her face. I told her of the knight that wore Upon his shield a burning brand ; And that for ten long years he wooed The Lady of the Land. I told her how he pined — and ah ! The deep, the low, the pleading tone With which I sang another's love, Interpreted my own. She listened with a flitting blush. With downcast eyes, and modest grace ; And she foro^ave me that I gazed Too fondly on her face. But "when I told the cruel scorn That crazed that bold and lovely knight, And that he crossed the mountain-woods. Nor rested day nor night ; 38 LOVE. That sometimes from the savao;e den. And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once In green and sunny glade, There came, and looked him in the face, An angel beautiful and bright ; And that he knew it was a fiend. This miserable Knight ! And that, unknowing what he did, He leaped amid a murderous band, And saved from outrage, worse than death, The Lady of the Land ; And how she wept, and clasped his knees; And how she tended him in vain. And ever strove to expiate The scorn that crazed his brain ; And that she nursed him in a cave ; And how his madness went away. When on the yellow forest-leaves A dying man he lay. His dying words — but when I reached That tenderest strain of all the ditty. My faltering voice and pausing harp Disturbed her soul with j)ity. LOVE. All impulses of soul and sense Had tlmlled my guileless Genevieve : The music and the doleful tale, The rich and balmy eve ; And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, An undistinguishable throng. And gentle w^ishes long subdued, Subdued and chenshed loner ! She vy^ept with pity and delight, She blushed with love, and virgin shame ; And like the murmur of a dream, I heard her breathe my name. Her bosom heaved ; she stept aside. As conscious of my look she stept ; Then suddenly, with timorous eye. She fled to me and wept. She half inclosed me with her arms ; She pressed me with a meek embrace ; And bending back her head, looked up. And gazed upon my face. 'Twas partly love, and partly fear, And partly 'twas a bashful art. That T might rather feel, than see, The swelling of her heart. 40 LADY ANN BOTHWELL'S LAMEN^r. I calmed her fears, and she was cahn, And told her love with virgin pride ; And so I won my Genevieve, My bright and beauteous bride. Samuel Taylor Coleridge. LADY ANN BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe ! It grieves me sair to see thee weipe ; If tliou'st be silent, I'se be glad ; Thy maining maks my heart ful sad. Balow, my boy, thy mither's joy, Tliy father breides me great annoy. Balow ^ my hahe^ ly stil and sleipe! It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. When he began to court my luve. And with his sugred words to muve, His faynings fals, and flattering cheire. To me that time did not appeire ; But now I see, most cruell hee Cares neither for my babe nor mee. Balow ^ my babe, ly stil and sleipe! It f/rieves me sair to see thee wefipr. V 41 LADY ANN BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. Ly stil, my darlinge, sleipe awhile ! And when thou wakest sweitly smile ; But smile not, as thy father did, To cozen maids ; nay, God forbid ! But yette I feire, thou wilt gae neire Thy fatheris hart and face to beire. Balow, my habe^ ly stil and sleipe! It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 1 canna chuse, but ever will Be luving to thy father stil : Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde, My luve with him maun stil abyde : In weil or wae, whair-eir he gae, Mine hart can neir depart him frae. Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe/ It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. But doe not, doe not, prettie mine. To faynings fals thine hart incline : Be loyal to thy luver trew, And nevir change hir for a new ; If gude or faire, of hir have care. For women's banning's wonderous sair. JBalow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe ! It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. Bairne, sin thy cruel father's gane, Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine ; My babe and I'll together live ; He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve : 42 LITTLE AND GREAT. My babe and I right saft will ly, And quite forget man's cruelty. Balow^ my habe^ ly stil and sleipe ! It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth That ever kist a woman's mouth ! I wish all maids be warned by mee, - Nevir to trust man's curtesy ; For if we doe but chance to bow, They'll use us then they care not how. Balow^ my hahe^ ly stil and slei^je ! It grieves me sair to see thee weipe, AXONYMOUS. LITTLE AND GREAT. A TRAVELLER, through a dusty road, Strewed acorns on the lea ; And one took root and sprouted up, And grew into a tree. Love sought its shade at evening time, To breathe his early vows; And Age was pleased, in heats of noon. To bask beneath its bouo-hs. The dormouse loved its dano-ling; twiors. The birds sweet music bore ; It stood a glory in its place, A blessing evermore. 43 LITTLE AND GREAT. A little spring had lost its way Amid the grass and fern ; A passing stranger scooped a well, Where weary men might turn. He walled it in, and hung with care A ladle at the brink : He thought not of the deed he did, But judged that Toil might drink. He passed again — and lo ! the well. By summers never dried, Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, And saved a life beside. A dreamer dropped a random thought ; 'Twas old — and yet 'twas new : A simple fancy of the brain. But strong in being true. It shone upon a genial mind. And lo ! its light became A lamp of life, a beacon ray, A monitory flame. The thought was small — its issue great; A watch-fire on the hill. It sheds its radiance far adown, And cheers the valley still. A nameless man, amid a crowd That thronged the daily mart. Let fall a word of hope and love, Unstudied, from the heart. 44 I HOW STANDS THE GLASS AROUND? A wliisper on the tumult thrown, A transitory breath, It raised a brother from the dust, It saved a soul from death. O germ ! O fount ! O word of love ! O thought at random cast ! Ye were but little at the first. But mighty at the last ! CuAiiLKS Mack AY. HOW STANDS THE GLASS AROUND? How stands the glass around ? For shame ! ye take no care, my boys How stands the glass around ? Let mirth and wine abound. The trumpets sound ; The colors they are flying, boys. To fight, kill, or wound. May we still be found Content with our hard fare, my boys, On the cold 2;round. Why, soldiers, wliy Should we be melancholy, boys ? Why, soldiers, why ? Whose business 'tis to die I What ! sighing ? fie ! SONG. Don't fear ! drink on, be jolly, boys ! 'TIs he, you, or I ! Cold, hot, wet or dry. We're always bound to follow, boys, And scorn to fly. 'Tis but in vain (I mean not to upbraid you, boys,) 'Tis but hi vain For soldiers to complain ; Should next campaign Send us to Him who made us, boys, We're free from pain ; But if we remain, A bottle and a kind landlady Cure all again. Anonymous. SONG. Day, in melting purple dying ! Blossoms, all around me sighing ! Fragrance, from the lilies straying Zephyr, with my ringlets playing ! Ye but waken my distress ; I am sick of loneliness. 46 SONG. Tliou to whom I love to hearken, Come, ere night around me darken ! Though thy softness but deceive me, Say thou'rt true, and I'll believe thee ; Veil, if ill, thy soul's intent ; Let me think it innocent. Save thy toiling, spare thy treasure : All I ask is friendship's pleasure ; Let the shining ore lie darkling, Bring no gem in lustre sparkling : Gifts and gfold are naui2;ht to me I would only look on thee ! Tell to thee the hio-h-wrouo-ht feelino;, Ecstasy but in revealing ; Paint to thee the deep sensation. Rapture in participation ; Yet but torture, if comprest In a lone, unfriended breast. Absent still ! Ah, come and bless me ! Let these eyes again caress thee. Once, in caution, I could fly thee ; Now I nothmg could deny thee. In a look if death there be. Come — and I will gaze on thee ! Maria Bhooks. 47 THE LAST LEAF. I SAW him once before, As he passed by the door ; And again Tlie pavement-stones resound As lie totters o'er the ground Witli liis cane. 48 THE LAST LEAF. They say that in liis prime, Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him clown, Not a better man was found By the crier on liis round Through tlie town. But now he walks the streets, And lie looks at all he meets So forlorn ; And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, " They are gone." The mossy marbles rest On the lips that he has pressed In their bloom ; And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb. My grandmamma has said, (Poor old lady ! she is dead Long ago,) That he had a Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose In the snow. But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff; 4y TO AL THE A— FROM PRISON. And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh. I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here, But the old three-cornered hat, And the breeches — and all that. Are so queer ! And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree In the spring, Let them smile, as I do now. At the old forsaken bough Where I clincr. Oliver Wendp:ll Holmes. TO ALTHEA — FROM PRISON. When Love, with unconfined wings. Hovers within my gates. And my divine Altliea brings To whisper at my grates ; When I lie tangled in her hair And fettered to her eye, 50 TO ALTHEA— FROM PRISON. The birds, that wanton in the air, Know no such liberty. When flowing cups run swiftly round, With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses bound, Our hearts with loyal flames ; When thirsty grief in wine we steep. When healths and draughts go free, Fishes, that tipple in the deep. Know no such liberty. When, like committed linnet, I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty. And glories of my king; When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be. Enlarged winds, that curl the flood. Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make. Nor iron bars a cao-e : Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage. If I have freedom in my love, And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty. KiciiAUD Lovelace. 51 TOM BOWLING. Heke, a sheer hulk, hes poor Tom Bowling, The darling of our crew : No more he'll hear the tempest howling. For Death has broached him to. His form was of the manliest beauty ; His heart was kind and soft ; Faithftil below, he did his duty ; But now he's gone aloft. Tom never from his . word de])arted. His virtues were so rare ; His friends were many and true-hearted ; His Poll was kind and fair. And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly, Ah, many's the time and oft ! But mirth is turned to melancholy. For Tom is gone aloft. Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather. When He, who all commands, Shall give, to call life's crew together. The word to pipe all hands. Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches. In vain Tom's life has doffed ; For, though his body's under hatches. His soul is gone aloft. Charles Dibdix. 52 LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCL I. O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arras ! Alone, and palely loitering? The sedge has withered from the lake^ And no birds sins;. II. what can ail thee, knight-at-arms ! So hagcrard and so w^oe-be^one ? The squirrel's granary is full. And the harvest done. III. 1 see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew ; And on thy cheeks a fading rose Fast withereth too. IV. I met a lady in the mead. Full beautiful, a fairy's child ; Her hair Avas long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild. Q 53 LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCL V. I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone ; She looked at me as she did love, And made sweet moan. VI. I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day lon^ : For sidelong would she bend, and sing A fairy song. VII. She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna dew ; And sure in language strange she said, " I love thee true." VIII. She took me to her elfin grot, ^ And there she wept, and sighed full sore ; ■ And there I shut her wild, wild eyes With kisses four, IX. And there she lulled me asleep ; And there I dreamed — Ah ! woe betide ! The latest dream I ever dreamed On the cold hill -side. 54 BABY'S SHOES. X. I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors — death-pale were they all ; They cried, " La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall ! " XI. I saw their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gaped wide ; And I awoke and found me here. On the cold hill-side. XII. And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering. Though the sedge is withered from the lake. And no birds sing. John Keats. BABY'S SHOES. O THOSE little, those little blue shoes, Those shoes that no little feet use ! O the price were high That those shoes would buy, Those little blue unused shoes ! 55 BABY'S SHOES. For they hold the small shape of feet That no more their mother's eyes meet, That, by God's good will, Years since grew still, And ceased from their totter so sweet. And O, since that baby slept. So hushed, how the mother has kept, With a tearful pleasure. That little dear treasure. And over them thought and wept ! For they raind her for evermore Of a patter along the floor ; And blue eyes she sees Look up from her knees. With the look that in life they woi^e. As they lie before her there, There babbles from chair to chair A little sweet face That's a gleam in the place. With its little gold curls of hair. Then O, wonder not that her heart From all else would rather part Than those tiny blue shoes That no little feet use. And whose sight makes such fond tears start ! William C. Bennett. 56 I J THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. One more unfortunate, Weary of breatli, Rashly importunate. Gone to her death ! Take lier up tenderly, Lift her with care ! P\ishioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair ! 5 7 THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. Look at lier garments Clinging like cerements, Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing ; Take her up instantly, Lovino- not loathino;! Touch her not scornfully ! Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; Not of the stains of her : All that remains of her Now is pm-e womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny. Rash and undutiful ; Past all dishonor. Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers. One of Eve's family, Wipe those poor lips of hers, Oozing so clammily. Loop up her tresses Escaped fi'om the comb. Her fair auburn tresses. Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home ? 58 THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. Who was her father ? Who was her mother ? Had she a sister ? Had she a brother ? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other ? Alas, for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun ! O, it was pitifal ! Near a whole city full, Home she had none. Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly Feelings had changed ; Love, by harsh evidence. Thrown from its eminence ; Even God's providence Seemino; estrano;ed! Where the lamps quiver So far in the river. With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement. She stood, with amazement, Houseless by night. 59 THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. The bleak wind of jNIarch Made lier tremble and shiver ; But not the dark arch, Nor the black flowing ri^er : Mad from life's history, Glad to death's mystery Swift to be hurled — Anywhere, anywhere Out of the world ! In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly The rough river ran, Over the brink of it ! Picture it — think of it, Dissolute man ! Lave in it, drink of it Then, if you can ! Take her vip tenderly. Lift her with care ! Fashioned so slenderly. Young, and so fair ! Ere her limbs, frigidly, Stiffen too rigidly. Decently, kindly. Smooth and compose them , And her eyes, close them, Staring so blindly ! 60 THE HOLLY TREE. Dreadfully staring Through muddy impurity, As when with the darino; Last look of despairing Fixed on futurity. Perishing gloomily, Spurred by contumely. Cold inhumanity Burning insanity Into her rest ! Cross her hands humbly. As if praying dumbly. Over her breast ! Owning her weakness. Her evil behavior. And leaving, with meekness. Her sins to her Saviour ! Thomas Hood. THE HOLLY TREE. O READER ! hast thou ever stood to see The holly tree? The eye that contemplates it well, perceive Its glossy leaves Ordered by an intelligence so wise As might confound the atheist's sophistries. THE HOLLY TREE. Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen Wrinkled and keen ; No grazing cattle, througli their prickly round. Can reach to wound; But as they grow where nothing is to fear, Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves appear. I love to view these things with curious eyes, And moralize ; And in this wisdom of the holly tree Can emblems see Wherewith, perchance, to make a pleasant rhyme, One which may profit in the after-time. Thus, though abroad, perchance, I might appear Harsh and austere, To those who on my leisure would intrude Reserved and rude ; Gentle at home, amid my friends, I'd be, Like the high leaves upon the holly tree. And should my youth, as youth is apt I know, Some harshness show. All vain asperities I, day by day. Would wear away. Till the smooth temper of my age should be Like the high leaves upon the holly tree. And as, when all the summer trees are seen So bright and green. MY CHILD. The holly leaves their fadeless hues display Less bright than they ; But when the bare and wintry woods we see, What then so cheerful as the holly tree ? So, serious shoidd my youth appear among The thoughtless throng ; So would I seem, amid the young and gay. More grave than they ; That in my age as cheerful I might be As the green winter of the holly tree. Robert South p:y. MY CHILD. I CANNOT make him dead ! His fair sunshiny head Is ever bounding round my study chair; Yet, when my eyes, now dim With tears, I turn to him. The vision vanishes — he is not there I I walk my parlor floor, And through the open door I hear a footfall on the chamber stair ; I'm stepping toward the hall To give the boy a call ; And then bethink me that — he is not there! 63 MY CHILD. I thread the crowded street ; A satchelled lad I meet, With the same beaming eyes and colored hair ; And, as he's running by, Follow him with my eye, Scarcely believing that — he is not there! I know his face is hid Under the coffin lid; Closed are his eyes ; cold is his forehead fair. My hand that marble felt ; O'er it in prayer I knelt ; Yet my heart whispers that — he is not there! I cannot make him dead ! When passing by the bed So long watched over with parental care, My spirit and my eye Seek him inquiringly. Before the thought comes that — he is not there When, at the cool, gray break Of day, from sleep I wake, With my first breathing of the morning air My soul goes up, with joy, To Him who gave my boy ; Then comes the sad thought that — he is not there When at the day's calm close. Before we seek repose, I'm with his mother, oflPering up our prayer, 64 j MY CHILD Wliate'er I may be saying, I am in spirit praying For our boy's spirit, though — he is not there I Not there ! — Where, then, is he ? The form I used to see Was but the raiment that he used to wear. The grave, that now doth press Upon that cast-off dress, Is but his wardrobe locked; — he is not tliere ! He lives ! — In all the past He lives ; nor, to the last. Of seeing him again will I despair ; In dreams I see him now ; And, on his angel brow, I see it written, "Thou slialt see me there!'' Yes, we all live to God ! Fathek, thy chastening rod So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear, That in the spirit land, Meeting at thy right hand, 'Twill be our heaven to find that — he is there! John PiKuroNT. Go IT NEVER COMES AGAIN. There are gains for all our losses, There are balms for all our pain : But wlien youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts, And it never comes again. We are stronger, and are better. Under manhood's sterner reign ; Still, we feel that something sweet Followed youth, with flying feet, And wil Something beautiful is vanished, And we sigh for it in vain : We behold it everywhere. On the earth, and in the air, But it never comes again. Richard Hknry Stoudaud. 6G THE AGE OF WISDOM. Ho ! pretty page, with the dimpled cliin, That never has known tlie barber's sliear All your wish is woman to win ; This is the way that boys begin : Wait till you come to forty year. Curly gold locks cover foolish brains ; Billing and cooing is all your cheer ; SiMiino;, and sinffiup; of midnio;ht strains Under Bonnybell's window panes : Wait till you come to forty year. 07 THE AGE OF WISDOM. Forty times over let Michaelmas pass ; Grizzling hair the brain doth clear ; Then you know a boy is an ass, Then you know the worth of a lass, Once you have come to forty year. Pledge me round ! I bid ye declare. All good fellows whose beards are gray : Did not the fairest of the fair Common grow and wearisome, ere Ever a month was past away ? Tlie reddest lips that ever have kissed, Tlie brightest eyes tliat ever have shone. May pray and Avhisper and we not list. Or look away and never be missed. Ere yet ever a month is gone. Gillian's dead ! God rest her bier : How I loved her twenty years syne ! Marian's married ! but I sit here, Alone and merry at forty year. Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine. William Makepp:ace Tiiackkray. C8 THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD. We sat within the farm-house old, Whose windows, looking o'er the bay, Gave to the sea-breeze, damp and cold. An easy entrance, night and day. Not far away we saw the port. The strange, old-fashioned, silent town, The light-house, the dismantled fort. The wooden houses, quaint and brown. We sat and talked until the night. Descending, filled the little room ; Our faces faded from the sight, Our voices only broke the gloom. We spake of many a vanished scene, Of what we once had thought and said, Of what had been, and miglit liave been. And who was changed, and who was dead ; And all that fills the hearts of friends. When first they feel, with secret })ain, Their lives thenceforth have se])arate ends, And never can be one again ; THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD. The first slight swerving of the heart, That words are powerless to express, And leave it still unsaid in part, Or say it in too great excess. The very tones in which we spake Had something strange, I could but mark ; The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark. Oft died the words upon our lips, As suddenly, from out the fire Built of the wreck of stranded ships. The flames would leap, and then expire. And, as their splendor flashed and failed, We thought of wrecks upon the main ; Of ships dismasted, that were hailed And sent no answer back again. The windows, rattling in their frames, The ocean, roaring up the beach, Tlie gusty blast, the bickering flames. All mingled vaguely in our speech ; Until they made themselves a part Of fancies floating through the brain : The long-lost ventures of the heart. That send no answers back again. 70 4- '^t(,/K^ ^idJU_ hanj ^'^ i>h-^rur K^y tric^ ^'^^ 7rt>c4^'/ %i!^ p'-trnrv HU. cU^/^ C'/ry^ di^rvrU A^^^' ^-k^ trTlCc^9 rhj f^ ^^VM^ /lu/U4yn-^ j^k/M^ ^^ ASK ME NO MOKE. O flames tliat glowed ! O hearts that yearned ! They were indeed too much akin : The drif't-wood fire without that burned, The thoughts that burned and glowed within. Henry Wadswokth Longfellow. ASK ME NO MORE. Ask me no more : the moon may draw the sea ; The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the sl)a])e, With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape ; But, O too fond ! when have I answered thee ? > Ask me no more. Ask me no more : what answer should I give ? I love not hollow cheek or faded eye ; Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die ! Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live ; Ask me no more. Ask me no more : thy tate and mine are sealed ; I strove against the stream, and all in vain. Let the great river take me to the main. No more, dear love — for at a touch 1 yield ; Ask me no more ! Alike I) TkniNvson. THE BELFRY PIGEOiV. On the cross-beam under the Old South bell The nest of a pigeon is bujlded well. In summer and winter that bird is there, Out and in with the morning air. I love to see him track the street, With his wary eye and active feet ; And I often watch him as he springs. Circling the steeple with, easy wings, Till across the dial his shade lias i)assed, And the belfry edge is gained at last. 'Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note, And the trembling throb in its mottled throat ; There's a human look in its swelling breast. And the gentle curve of its lowly crest ; And I often stop with the fear I feel, He runs so close to the rapid wheel. Whatever is rung on that noisy bell. Chime of the hour, or funeral knell. The dove in the belfry must hear it well. When the tongue swings out to the midnight moon, When the sexton cheerly rings for noon. When the clock strikes clear at mornino; light. When the child is waked with "nine at night," When the chimes play soft in the Sabbath air. Filling the spirit with tones of prayer, 72 THE BELFRY PIGEON. Whatever tale in the bell is heard, He broods on his folded feet unstirred, Or, rising half in his rounded nest, He takes the time to smooth his breast ; Then drops again, with filmed eyes. And sleeps as the last vibration dies. Sweet bird ! I would that I could be A hermit in the crowd like thee ! With wings to fly to w^ood and glen, Thy lot, like mine, is cast with men ; And daily, with unwilling feet, I tread, like thee, the crowded street ; But, unlike me, when day is o'er. Thou canst dismiss the world, and soar ; Or, at a half-felt wish for rest. Canst smooth the feathers on thy breast, And drop, forgetful, to thy nest. I would that, in such wings of gold, I could my weary heart upfold ; I would I could look down unmoved, (Unloving as I am unloved,) And while the world throngs on beneath, Smooth down my cares and calmly breathe ; And never sad with others' sadness. And never glad with others' gladness. Listen, unstirred, to knell or chime. And, lapped in quiet, bide my time. Natiianikl Parker Willis. 73 VULCAN, CONTRIVE ME SUCH A CUP. Vulcan, contrive me such a cup As Nestor used of old ; Show all thy skill to trim it up, Damask it round with gold. Make it so large that, filled with sack, Up to the swelling brim. Vast toasts in the delicious lake, Like ships at sea, may swim. Engrave not battle on his cheek : With war I've naught to do ; I'm none of those that took Maestrick, Nor Yarmouth leaguer knew. Let it no names of planets tell. Fixed stars or constellations ; For I am no Sir Sidrophel, Nor none of his relations. But carve thereon a spreading vine ; Then add two lovely boys ; Their limbs in am'rous folds entwme, The type of future joys. 74 JOHN ANDERSON. Cupid and Bacchus my saints are : May drink and love still reign ! With wine I wash away my care, And then to love again. Anacreon. (Greek.) Trauslation of tlie Karl ok KocHEsriiK. JOHN ANDERSON. John Anderson, my jo John, When we were first acquent. Your locks were like the raven, Your bonny brow was brent ; But now your brow is bald, John, Your locks are like the snow ; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo John, We clamb the hill thegither. And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither ; Now we maun totter doun, John, But hand in hand we'll go. And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo. KOHKKT Bui'.Nt 7") JEANIE MORRISON. I've wandered east, I've wandered west, Tlu'ougli mony a weary way; But never, never can forget The hive o' life's young day ! The fire that's bUwn on Beltane e'en May weel be black gin Yule ; But blacker fa' awaits the heart Where first fond luve grows cule. O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, The thochts o' bygane years Still fling their shadows ower my path. And blind my een wi' tears : They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears, And sair and sick I pine. As memory idly summons up The blithe blinks o' langsyne. 'Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel, 'Twas then we twa did part ; Sweet time — sad time! twa bairns at scule, Twa bairns, and but ae heart ! 76 JEANIE MORRISON. 'Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink, To leir ilk itlier lear ; And tones and looks and smiles were shed, Remembered evermair. I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet, When sittin' on that bink. Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof. What our wee heads could think. When baith bent doun ower ae braid page, Wi' ae buik on our knee, Tliy lips were on thy lesson, but My lesson was in thee. O, mind ye how we hung our heads, H-ow cheeks brent red wi' shame, Whene'er the scule-weans, laugliin', said We decked thegither hame ? And mind ye o' the Saturdays, (The scule then skail't at noon,) When we ran off to speel the braes. The broomy braes o' June ? My head rins round and round about, My heart flows like a sea. As ane by ane the thochts rush back O' scule-time and o' thee. O mornin' life ! O mornin' luve ! O lichtsome days and lang. When hinnied hopes around our hearts Like simmer blossoms sprang ! K 77 JEANIE MORRISON. O, mind ye, luve, liow aft we left The deavin' dhisome toun, To wander by the green burnside, And liear its waters croon ? JEANIE MORRISON. The simmer leaves hung ower our lieails, The flowers burst round our feet, And in the gloamin' o' the wood The throssil whusslit sweet ; The throssil whusslit in the wood, The burn sang to the trees, And we, with Nature's heart in tune. Concerted harmonies ; And on the knowe abune the burn For hours thegither sat In the silentness o' joy, till baith Wi' very gladness grat. Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison, Tears trinkled doun your cheek Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane Had ony power to speak ! That was a time, a blessed time, When hearts were fresh and young, When freely gushed all feelings forth, Unsyllabled — unsung ! I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, Gin I liae been to thee As closely twined wi' earliest thochts As ye hae been to me ? O, tell me gin their music fills Thine ear as it does mine ! O, sny gin e'er your heart grows grit Wi' dreamings o' lano-sviie ? 79 HESTER. I've wandered east, I've wandered west, I've borne a weary lot ; But in my wanderings, far or near, Ye never were forgot. The fount that first burst frae this lieart Still travels on its way ; And channels deeper, as it rins, The luve o' life's young day. O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, Since we were sindered young I've never seen your face, nor heard The music o' your tongue ; But I could hug all wretchedness. And haj^py could I dee. Did I but ken your heart still dreamed O' bygane days and me ! William Motherwell. HESTER. When maidens such as Hester die, Their phice ye may not well supply, Tliough ye among a thousand try, With vain endeavor. A month or more hath she been dead. Yet cannot I by force be led To think upon the wormy bed And her, togetlier. 80 HESTER. A springy motion in her gait, A rising step, did indicate Of pride and joy no common rate, That flushed her spirit ; I know not by what name beside I shall it call : — if 'twas not pride, It was a joy to that allied, She did inherit. Her parents held the Quaker rule. Which doth the human feeling cool ; But she was trained in Nature's school ; Nature had blessed her. A waking eye, a prying mind, A heart that stirs, is hard to bind ; A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind ; Ye could not Hester. My sprightly neighbor, gone before To that unknown and silent shore ! Shall we not meet, as heretofore. Some summer morning, When from thy cheerful eyes a ray Hath struck a bliss upon the day : A bliss that would not go away, A sweet forewarnino; ? CiiAKLES Lamb. 81 THE FAIREST THING IN MORTAL EYES. To make my lady's obsequies, My love a minster wrought ; And, in the chantry, service there Was sung by doleful thought. The tapers were of burning siglis, That light and odor gave ; And sorrows, painted o'er with tears, Enlumined her grave ; And round about, in quaintest guise. Was carved : " Within this tomb there lies The fairest thing in mortal eyes." Above her lieth spread a tomb, Of gold and sapphires blue : The gold doth show her blessedness, The sapphires mark her true ; For blessedness and truth in her Were livelily portrayed. When gracious God with both His hands Her goodly substance made. He framed her in such wondrous wise, She was, to speak without disguise. The fairest thing in mortal eyes. 82 A DEATH-BED. No more, no more ! my heart cloth faint When I the Hfe recall Of her who lived so free from taint, So vh^tuous deemed by all. That in herself was so complete, I think that she was ta'en By God to deck His paradise. And with his saints to reign ; Whom, while on earth, each one did prize The fairest thing in mortal eyes. But naught our tears avail, or cries : All soon or late in death shall sleep ; Nor living wight long time may keep The fairest thing in mortal eyes. Charles, Duke of Orleans. (French.) Translation of Henrv Fr.vncts Tarv A DEATH-BED. Her suffering ended with the day ; Yet lived she at its close. And breathed the long, long night away, In statue-like repose. But when the sun, in all his state. Illumed the eastern skies. She passed through Glory's morning-gate, And walked in Paradise ! James Ai.dhkh. 83 ANNABEL LEE. It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, Tliat a maiden lived, whom you may know. By the name of Annabel Lee ; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love, and be loved by, me. I was a child, and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea ; But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee : With a love that the. winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee ; So that her high-born kinsmen came, And bore her away from me. To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not so happy in heaven. Went envying her and me. Yes ! that was the reason (as all men know). In this kingdom by the sea. That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 84 EDWARD, EDWARD. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we, Of many far wiser than we ; And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea. Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. And so, all the night-tide I lie down by the side Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea. In her tomb by the sounding sea. Edgar Allan Pok. EDWARD, EDWARD. " QuHY dois zour brand sae drap wi' bhiid, Edward, Edward? Quhy dois zour brand sae drap wi' bluid. And quhy sae sad gang zee O ? " *' O I hae killed my hauke sae guid, Mitlier, mither : O I hae killed my hauke sae guid. And I had nae mair hot hee O." «5 EDWARD, EDWARD. '' Zour liaukis bliiid was nevir sae reid, Edward, Edward : Zour liaukis bluid was nevir sae reid — My deir son, 1 tell zee O." *•'• O I hae killed my reid-roan steid, Mither, mither : O I hae killed my reid-roan steid. That was sae fair and free O." '' Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair, Edward, Edward : Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair — Sum other dule ze drie O." EDWARD, EDWARD. "01 liae killed my fader deir, Mither, mither : () I hae killed my fader deir — Alas ! and wae is mee O " " And qii battel I penance wnl ze drie for that, Edward, Edward ? Quhatten penance wul ze drie for that ? My deir son, now tell mee O." " He set my feit in zonder boat, Mither, mither : He set my feit in zonder boat. And He fare ovir the sea O." " And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and zour ha', Edward, Edward ? And quhat w^ul ze doe wi' zour towirs and zour ha'. That were sae fair to see O ? " " He let tham stand til they doun fa' ; Mither, mither : He let tham stand til they doun fa', For here nevir mair maun I bee O." "And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and zour wife, Edward, Edward ? And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and zour wife, Quhan ze gang ovir the sea O ? " " The warldis room — let tham beg throw life, Mither, mither : The warldis room — let tham beg throw life : For tham nevir mair wul I see O." 87 THE BUCKET. " And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mitlier deir, Edward, Edward? And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir ? My deir son, now tell mee O." " The curse of hell frae me sail ze beir, Mither, mither : The curse of hell frae me sail ze beir — Sic counseils ze gave to mee O." Anonymous. THE BUCKET. How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood. When fond recollection presents them to A^iew ! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwood. And every loved spot Avliich my infancy knew ! The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it ; The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell ; The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it. And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well : The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well. That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure ; For often at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure. The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing, And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell ! 88 TO CELIA. Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coohiess, it rose from the well : The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well. How sweet from the green, mossy brim to receive it. As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips ! Not a frill, blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it. The brightest that beauty or revelry sips. And now, far removed from the loved habitation. The tear of regret will intrusively swell, As fancy reverts to my father's plantation. And sighs for the bucket that hano;s in the well: The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well. Samuel Woodwoktu. TO CELIA. Drink to me only with thine eyes, And 1 will pledge with mine ; Or leave a kiss but in the cup. And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine ; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not chano'e for thine. 89 Translation of Ben Jonson. WHEN WE TWO PARTED. I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath, Not so much honoring thee. As givmg it a hope that there It could not withered be. But thou thereon did'st only breathe. And sent'st it back to me ; Since when, it grows, and smells, I swea.r. Not of itself, but thee. Philostratus. (Greek.) WHEN AVE TWO PARTED When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted. To sever for years. Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Colder thy kiss ; Truly that hour foretold Sorrow to this. The dew of the morning Sank chill on my brow ; It felt like the warning Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken, And light is thy fame ; I hear thy name spoken, And share in its shame. 90 TOO LATE. They name thee before me, A knell to mme ear ; A shudder comes o'er me : Why wert thou so d?ar ? They know not I knew thee, Who knew thee too well. Long, long shall T rue thee, Too deeply to tell. In secret we met ; In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? In silence and tears. TOO LATE. LOKD r>YH()N Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, In the old likeness that I knew, I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas: Douglas, Douglas, tender and true ! Never a scornful word should grieve ye : I'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do Sweet as your smile on me shone ever, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true ! 91 CHANGES. ! to call back the days that are not ! My eyes were blinded, your words were few. Do you know the truth now, up in Heaven, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true ? 1 never was worthy of you, Douglas, Not half worthy the like of you ! Now all men beside seem to me like shadows ; I love YOU, Douglas, tender and true. Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas ; Drop forgiveness from Heaven like dew. As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas : Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. Dinah Maria Muloch CHANGES. Whom first we love, you know, we seldom wed. Time rules us all. And Life, indeed, is not The thing we planned it out ere hope was dead. And then, we women cannot choose our lot. Much must be borne which it is hard to bear; Much given away which it were sweet to keep. God help us all ! who need, indeed. His care. And yet, I know the Shepherd loves his sheep. 92 CHANGES. My little boy begins to babble now Upon my knee his earliest infant prayer. He has his father's eager eyes, I know ; And, they say, too, his mothei's snnny hair. But when he sleeps and smiles upon my knee. And I can feel his light breath come and go, I think of one (Heaven help and pity me !) Who loved me, and whom I loved, long ago : Who might have been ... ah what, I dare not think ! We are all changed. God judges for us best. God help us do our duty, and not shrink, And trust in Heaven humbly for the rest ! But blame us women not, if some appear Too cold at times ; and some too gay and light. Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are hard to bear. Who knows the past ? and who can judge us right ? Ah! were we judged by what we might have been. And not by what we are — too apt to fall ! My little child — he sleeps and smiles between These thoughts and me. In heaven we shall know all ! Robert Bulwek Lytton. 93 LOSS AND GAIN. When the baby died, we said, With a sudden, secret dread, " Death, be merciful, and pass : Leave the other I " but, alas ! While we watched he waited there, One foot on the golden stair, One hand beckoning at the gate, Till the home was desolate. Friends say, "It is better so. Clothed in innocence to go ; " Say, to ease the parting pain. That " your loss is but their gain." Ah ! the parents think of this ! But remember more the kiss From the little rose-red lips ; And the print of finger-tips, Left upon a broken toy. Will remind them how the boy And his sister charmed the days With their pretty, winsome ways. 94 THOSE EVENING BELLS. Only Time can give relief To the weary, lonesome grief; God's sweet minister of pain Then shall sing of loss and gain. Nora Perry THOSE EVENING BELLS. Those evening bells ! those evening bells ! How many a tale their music tells, Of youth, and home, and that sweet time When last I heard their soothing chime ! Those joyous hours are passed away ; And many a heart that then was gay, Within the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells. And so 'twill be when I am gone ; That tuneful peal will still ring on ; While other bards shall walk these dells, And sing your praise, sweet evening bells. Thomas Moore. 95 SONG. Ask me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose ; For, in your beauty's orient deep. These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more whither do stray The golden atoms of the day ; For, in pure love, heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair. Ask me no more whither doth haste The nightingale when May is past ; For in your sweet, dividing throat She winters, and keeps warm her note. Ask me no more where those stars light That downward fall in dead of nio-ht; For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become, as in their sphere. Ask me no more if east or west The Phoenix builds her spicy nest ; For unto you at last she flies. And in your fragrant bosom dies. Thomas Cakkw. 96 Uirtnl wj^ f^ /tic dlA/U^ J lilA^hutf /MU. ^ ^^% ^^ fv(r?it^ri^ ^Hf^ /^dux A^ h^jih yirrt^ /vl^un A^^ y/^ . SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris and he : (/■ I galloped, Dirck galloi)ed, we galloped all three ; '^ Good speed ! " cried the watch as the gate-bolts undrew ; "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through. "'^- Behind, shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast. Not a word to each other ! we kept the great pace. Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place I turned in my saddle and made its girths tio;ht. Then shortened each stirrup and set the pique right, Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit ; Nor galloped less steadily •Roland a whit. 'Twas a moonset at starting ; but while we drew noav Lokeren, the cocks crew, and twilight dawned clear ; At Boom a great yellow star came out to see ; M * 97 HOW thp:y brought the good At Diifteld 'twas morning as plain as could be ; And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime : So Joris broke silence with " Yet there is time ! " At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the sun, And against him the cattle stood black, every one, To stare through the mist at us galloping past ; And* I saw my stout galloper, Roland, at last, With resolute shoulders, each butting away The haze, as some bluflF river headland its spray ; And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track ; And one eye's black intelligence — ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, its own master, askance ; And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on. By Hasselt Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris, '•'' Stay spur ! Your Roos galloped bravely — the fault's not in her; We'll remember at Aix " — for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees. And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank. As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no tloud in the sky ; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh ; 'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff: Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white. And " Gallop ! " gasped Joris, '' for Aix is in sight ! 98 JSIEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX. " How they'll greet us ! " — and all in a moment his roan, Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone ; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate. With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all. Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer, Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good ; Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. And all I remember is friends flocking round, As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground ; And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine. As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine. Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent Robert Browning. If i YOUTH AND AGE. Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying, Wliere Hope clung feeding like a bee ! Both were mine ; Life went a-Maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young. When I was young! Ah, woful When! Ah, for the change 'twixt Now and Then ! This breathing house, not built with hands. This body, that does me grievous wrong. O'er airy cliflPs and glittering sands How lightly then it flashed along ! Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, On winding lakes and rivers wide. That ask no aid of sail or oar. That fear no spite of wind or tide. Naught cared this body foi wind or weather. When Youth and I lived in't too;ether. Flowers are lovely ; Love is flower-like ; Friendship is a sheltering tree ; O the joys that came down shower-like, Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, Ere I was old ! 100 YOUTH AND AGE. Ere I was old ! Ah, woful Ere ! Which tells me Youth's no longer here. Youth ! For years so many and sweet 'Tis known that thou and I were one ; I'll tlnnk it but a foiid conceit ; It cannot be that thou art gone I Thy vesper-bell hath not yet tolled, And thou wert aye a masker bold. What strange disguise hast now put on, To make believe that thou art gone ? 1 see these locks in silvery slips, This drooping gait, this altered size ; But springtide blossoms on thy lips, And tears take sunshine from thine eyes ! Life is but thought ; so think I will That Youth and I are house-mates still. Dew-drops are the gems of morning. But the tears of mourn fal eve. Where no hope is, life's a warning That only serves to make us grieve. When we are old : That only serves to make us grieve With oft and tedious taking leave ; Like some poor nigh-related guest That may not rudely be dismissed. Yet hath outstayed his welcome while. And tells the jest without the smile. Samuel Taylou Coleridge. 101 TO MARY. The twentieth year is well-nigh pa^st Since first our sky was overcast ; Ah, would that this might be the last ! My Mary! Thy spirits have a fainter flow ; I see thee daily weaker grow : 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary ! Thy needles, once a shining store. For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more. My Mary ! For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil The same kind office for me still. Thy sight now seconds not thy will. My Msivy ! But well thou playedst tlie housewife's part And all thy threads, with magic art. Have wound themselves about this heart, My Mary ! 102 TO MARY. Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language uttered in a dream ; Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, My Mary ! Thy silver locks, once auburn bright. Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light. My Mary! For, could I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary ! Partakers of thy sad decline. Thy hands their little force resign ; Yet, gently pressed, press gently mine, My Mary! Such feebleness of limbs thou provest. That now at every step thou mo vest Upheld by two ; yet still tliou lovest, My Mary! And still to love, though pressed with ill, In wintry age to feel no chill, With me is to be lovely still. My Mary! But all ! by constant heed I know How oft the sadness that I show Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, My Mary ! 103 THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. And should my future lot be cast With much resemblance of the past, Thy worn-out heart will break at last, My Mary ! William Cowpku. THE MH.LER'S DAUGHTER. It is the miller's daughter. And she is grown so dear, so dear, Tliat I would be the jewel That trembles at her ear ; For, liid in ringlets day and night, I'd touch her neck, so warm and wln'te. And I would be the girdle About her dainty, dainty waist. And her heart would beat against me In sorrow and in rest ; And I should know if it beat right, I'd clasp it round so close and tight. And I would be the necklace, And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom With her laughter or her sighs ; And I would lie so light, so light, I scarce should be unclasped at night. Alfred Tennyson. 104 THE shepiip:rd's son. The crovvan 2;litters on the sward, The lavrock's in the sky, And Colley on my plaid keeps ward, And time is passing by. no ! sad and slow ! 1 hear nae welcome sonnd ; The shadow of our trysting bush, It wears sae slowly round. My sheep-bell tinkles from the west, My lambs are bleating near ; But still the sound that I lo'e best Alack 1 I canna hear. O no ! sad and slow ! The shadow lingers still. And like a lanely ghaist I stand, And croon upon the hill. I hear below the water roar. The mill with clacking din ; And Lucky scolding frae her door, To bring the bairnies in. O no ! sad and slow ! These are nae sounds for me ; The shadow of our trysting bush, It creeps sae drearllic. X 1 Of) THE SHEPHERD'S SON. I coft yestreen frae chapman Tani A snood o' bonnie blue, And promised, when our trystmg cam, To tie it round her brow. O no ! sad and slow ! The time it winna pass ; The shadow of that weaiy thorn Is tethered on the ^rass. O now I see her on the way ! She's past the witches' knowe ; She's climbing up the brownie's brae ; My heart is in a lowe ! O no ! 'tis not so ! 'Tis glaumrie I hae seen ; The shadow of the hawthorn bush Will move nae mair till e'en. My book of grace I'll try to read. Though conned wi' little skill ; When Colley barks I'll raise my head. And find her on the hill. O no ! sad and slow ! The time will ne'er be gane ; The shadow of the trysting bush Is fixed like ony stane. eTOANNA BaILLIK. lOG THE LORELEI. I KNOW not what it presages, This heart with sadness fraught : 'Tis a tale of tlie olden ages, That ^vill not from my thought. Tlie air grows cool, and darkles ; The Rhine flows calmly on ; The mountain summit sparkles In the light of the setting sun. There sits, in soft reclinino;, A maiden wondrous fair, With ox>lden raiment shinino;. And combino; her p;olden hair. With a comb of gold she combs it ; And combino*, low sino;eth she A song of a strange, sweet sadness, A wonderful melody. Tlie sailor shudders, as o'er him The strain comes floating by ; He sees not the cliff's before him. He only looks on high. N* li»7 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. All ! round liim tlie dark waves, flinging Their arms, draw him slowly do^vn ; And this, with her wild, sAveet singing, The Lorelei has done. Heinisicii IIkine. (German Translation of CiTKisioriiEi-: Peause Cuancu. WITHOUT AND WITHIN. My coachman, in the moonlight there. Looks through the side-light of the door I hear him with his brethren swear, As I could do, — but only more. 108 WITHOUT AND VVrnilN. Flattening his nose against the pane, He envies me my brilliant lot, Breathes on his aching fists in vain. And dooms me to a place more hot. He sees me to the snpper go, A silken wonder by my side, Bare arms, bare shoulders, and a row Of flounces, for the door too wide. He tlmiks how happy is my arm, 'Neath its white-gloved and jewelled load And wishes me some dreadful harm. Hearing the merry corks ex})lode. Meanwhile I inly curse the bore Of hunting still the same old coon. And envy him, outside the door. In golden quiets of the moon. The winter wind is not so cold As the bright smiles he sees nie ^^•in, Nor the host's oldest wine so old As our poor gabble — wateiy, thin. I envy hiin the ungyvcd pi-ance By which his fi-eezing feet he warms, And drag my lady's-chains and dance, The galley-slave of dreary forms. 109 SIR PATRICK SPENS. O, could lie have my share of din, And I his quiet! — past a doubt 'Twould still be one man bored within, And just another bored without. James Russell Lowell. SIR PATRICK SPENS. The king sits in Dunfermline town, Drinkino; the blude-red wine : '' O where will I get a skeely skipper, To sail this new ship o' mine ? " no Sm PATRICK SPENS. O up and spak an eldern knight, Sat at the king's right knee : " Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor That ever sailed the sea." Our king has written a braid letter. And sealed it wi' his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the sand. " To NoroAvay, to Noroway, To Noroway o'er the faem ! The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis thou maun bring her liame." The first word that Sir Patrick read, Sae loud, loud laughed he ; The neist word that Sir Patrick read. The tear blindit his e'e. " O ! wlia is this has done this deed. And tauld the king o' me. To send us out at this time o' the year, To sail upon the sea ? " Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our ship maun sail the faem ; The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis we maun fetch her hjiine." in SIR PATRICK SPENS. Tliey lioysed their sails on Moneiulay morn, Wi' a' tlie speed they may ; Tliey hae landed in Noroway Upon a Wodensday. They hadna been a week, a week, In Noroway but twae, When that the lords o' Noroway Began aloud to say : '' Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's gowd, And a' our queenis fee." " Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud ! Fu' loud I hear ye lie ! " For I hae brought as mickle white monie As gane my men and me ; And I hae brought a half-fou o' gude red gowd Out owre the sea wi' me. " Mak ready, mak ready, my merry men a' I Our gude ship sails the morn." " Now, ever alake ! my master dear ; I fear a deadly storm ! " I saw the new moon, late yestreen, Wi' the auld moon in her arm ; And if we gang to sea, master, I fear Ave'll come to harm." 112 SIR PATRICK SPENS. They hadna sailed a league, a league, A league, but barely three, When the lii't grew dark, and the wmd blew loud, And gurly grew tlie sea. The ankers brak and the topmasts lap, It was sic a deadly storm ; And the waves cam owre the broken ship Till a' her sides were torn. "• O where will I get a gude sailor To tak my helm in hand. Till I gae up to the tall topmast. To see if I can spy land ? " '* O here am I, a sailor gude. To tak the helm in hand. Till you gae up to the tall topmast ; But I fear ye'U ne'er si)y land." He hadna gane a step, a stej:), A step, but barely ane, When a boult flew out of our goodly sliij). And the sant sea it cam in. " Gae fetch a web o' the silken claitli, Anither o' the twine. And wa]) them into our ship's side. And letua the sea come in." o IIH SIR PATRICK SPENS. They fetched a web o' the silken claitli, Anither o' the twine, And they wapped them into that gnde ship's side; But still the sea cam in. O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords, To weet their milk-white hands ! But lang or a' the play was played They wat their gowden bands. O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords To weet their cork-heeled shoon ! But lang or a' the play was played, They wat their hats aboon. And mony was the feather-bed That floated on the faem ; And mony was the gude lord's son That never mair cam hame. The ladyes wrang their fingers white, The maidens tore their hair : A' for the sake of their true loves, For them they'll see nae mair. O lang, lang may the ladyes sit, Wi' their fans in their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come sailing to the strand ! 114 AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. And laiig, lang may the maidens sit, Wi' their gowd kaims in their hair, A' waiting for their ain dear loves; For them they'll see nae mair. Half-owre, half-owre to Aberdour 'Tis fifty fathom deep, And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, Wi' the Scots lords at his feet. Anonymous. AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. How sweet it were, if without feeble fright, Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight. An angel came to us, and we could bear To see him issue from the silent air At evening in our room, and bend on ours His divine eyes, and bring us from liis bowers News of dear friends, and children who liave never Been dead indeed — as we shall know forever. Alas ! we think not what we daily see About our hearths — angels, that are to be. Or may be if they will, and we prepare Their souls and ours to meet in happy air : A child, a friend, a wife whose soft heart sings In unison with ours, breeding its future wings. Lkkjh Hunt. Ho THE MURDERED TRAVELLER. When spring, to woods and wastes around, Brought bloom and joy again, The murdered traveller's bones were found. Far down a narrow glen. llG THE MURDERED TRAVELLER. Tlie fnignint birch, above him, hung Her tassels in the sky ; And many a vernal blossom sprung. And nodded careless by. The red-bird warbled, as he wrought His hanging nest o'erhead ; And fearless, near the fatal spot. Her young the partridge led. But there was weeping far away. And gentle eyes, for him, With watching many an anxious day, Were sorrowful and dim. They little knew, who loved him so. The fearful death he met. When shouting o'er the desert snow. Unarmed and hard beset ; Nor how, when round the frosty pole The northern dawn was red. The mountain wolf and wild-cat stole To banquet on the dead ; Nor how, when strangers found his bones, They dressed the hasty bier, And marked his grave with nameless stones, Unmoistened by a tear. H 117 i • LOVE. But long they looked, and feared, and wept, Within his distant home; And dreamed, and started as they slept. For joy that he was come. Long, long they looked — but never spied His welcome step again. Nor knew the fearful death he died, Far down that narrow glen. William Cullen Bkyant LOVE. He stood beside a cottage lone. And listened to a lute, One summer eve, when the breeze was gone, And the nightingale was mute. The moon was watching on the hill ; The stream was staid, and the maples still, To hear a lover's suit, That, half a vow, and half a prayer, Spoke less of hope than of despair. And rose into the calm, soft air. As sweet and low. As he had heard — O, woe! O, woe! The flutes of angels, long ago ! " By every hope that earthward clings. By faith that mounts on angel wings, 118 LOVE. By dreams that make night-shadows bright. And truths that turn our day to night, By childhood's smile, and manhood's tear, By pleasure's day, and sorrow's year. By all the strains that fancy sings. And pangs that time so surely brings. For joy or grief, for hope or fear. For all hereafter as for here, In peace or strife, in storm or shine, My soul is wedded unto thine ! " And for its soft and sole reply, A muraiur, and a sweet, low sigh, But not a spoken word ; And yet they made the waters start Into his eyes who heard. For they told of a most loving heart, In a voice like that of a bird ; Of a heart that loved though it loved in vain, A grieving, and yet not a pain : A love that took an early root And had an early doom. Like trees that never grow to fruit. And early shed their bloom ; Of vanished hopes and happy smiles, All lost for evermore. Like ships that sailed for sunny isles, - But never came to shore ! * Thomas Kibble Hervky 119 ANGELS BY THE DOOK. O ! THERE be angels evermwore, A-passen onward by the door, A-zent to teake our jays, or come To bring us zome — O Mearianne. Though doors be shut, an' bars be stout, Noo bolted door can keep em out ; But they wull leave us everythmg They have to bring — My Mearianne. An' zoo the daes a-stealen by, Wi' zuns a-riden droo the sky, Do bring us things to leave us sad. Or meake us glad — O Mearianne. The dae that's mild, the dae that's stern, Do teake, in stillness, each his turn ; An' evils at their wo'st mid mend, Or even end — My Mearianne. But still, if we can only beare, Wi' faith an' love, our pain an' ceare. We shan't vind missen jay a-lost. Though we be crost — O Mearianne; But all a-car'd to heaven, an' stowed. Where we can't weaste em on the road, 120 COME BACK I As we do wander to an' fro, Down here below — My Mearianne. But there be jays I'd soonest choose To keep, vrom they that I must lose : Thy worksome hands to help my twile, Thy cheerful smile — O Mearianne; The Zunday bells o' yander tower, The moonlight sheades o' my own bower, An' rest avore our vier-zide, At evenen-tide — My Mearianne. William Barnes. COME BACK! Come from your long, long roving, On the sea so wild and rough ! Come to me tender and loving. And I shall be blessed enouoh I Where your sails have been unfurling, What winds have blown on your br( I know not, and ask not, my darling. So that you come to me now. Sorrowfril, sinful, and lonely, Poor and despised though you be. All are as nothing, if only You turn from the tempter to me. Q 121 EPITHALAMIUM. Of men tliough you be unforgiven, Tliougli priest be unable to shrive, I'll pray till I weary all heaven, If only you'll come back alive. Anonymous. EPITHALAMIUM. I SAV^ two clouds at morning. Tinged by the rising sun, And in the dawn they floated on. And mingled into one : I thought that morning cloud was blest. It moved so sweetly to the west. I saw tw^o summer currents Flow smoothly to their meeting. And join their course with silent force, In peace each other greeting ; Calm was their course through banks of green, While dimpling eddies played between. Such be your gentle motion. Till life's last pulse shall beat ; Like Summer's beam, and Summer's stream, Float on m joy, to meet A calmer sea, where storms shall cease, A purer sky, where all is peace. John Gar oxer Calkins Brainard. 122 SONG TO MAY. May ! queen of blossoms, And fulfilling flowers, With what pretty music Shall we charm the hours? Wilt thou have pipe and reed, Blown in the open mead ? Or to the lute give heed, In the green bowers ? Thou hast no need of us. Or pipe or wire. That hast the golden bee Ripened with fire ; And many thousand more Songsters, that thee adore. Filling earth's grassy floor With new desire. Thou hast thy mighty herds, Tame, and free livers ; Doubt not, thy music too In the deep rivers ; And the whole plumy flight, Warbling the day and night : Up at the gates of light. See, the lark quivers ! 123 THE RHODORA. When with the jacinth Coy fountains are tressed, And for the mournfal bird Greenwoods are dressed, That did for Tereus pine, Then shall our songs be thine, To whom our hearts incline : May, be thou blessed ! Lord Tiiurlow. THE RHODORA. In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, 1 found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook : The purple petals, fallen in the pool. Made the black waters with their beauty gay ; Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool. And court the flower that cheapens his array. Rhodora ! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky, Dear, tell them that if eyes were made for seeing, Then beauty is its own excuse for being. Why thou wert there, O rivsil of the rose ! I never thought to ask, I never knew ; But in my simple ignorance suppose The selfsame Power that brought me there, brought you. Ralph Waldo Emerson. 124 THE NIGHT PIECE. Her eyes the glow-worme lend tliee, The shooting-starres attend thee ; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, hefriend thee. No Will-o'-th'-Wispe mislight thee, Nor snake nor slow-worme bite thee ; But on thy way, Not making stay. Since ghost there's none t' affright thee. Let not the darke thee cumber ; What though the moon does slumber ? The stars of the night Will lend thee their light. Like tapers cleare, without number. Then, Julia, let me woo thee, Thus, thus to come unto me; And when I shall meet Thy silvery feet. My soule I'll pour into thee ! Q * 1 25 ROBKRT HkRRICK. J V) HANNAH BINDING SHOES. Poor lone Hannah, Sitting at the window, binding shoes ! Faded, wrinkled. Sitting, stitching, in a mournful muse! Bright-eyed beauty once was she. When the bloom was on the tree. Spring and Winter Hannah's at the window, binding shoes. 126 HANNAH BINDING SHOES. Not a neighbor Passing nod or answer will refuse To her whisper: " Is there from the fishers any news ? " O, her heart's adrift with one On an endless voyage gone ! Night and morning Hannah's at the window, binding shoes. Fair young Hannah, Ben, the sun-burnt fisher, gayly woos ; Hale and clever. For a willing heart and hand he sues. May-day skies are all a-glow. And the waves are laughing so ! For her wedding Hannah leaves her window and her shoes. May is passing ; 'Mid the apple-boughs a pigeon coos. Hannah shudders ; For the mild southwester mischief brews. Round the rocks of Marblehead, Outward bound, a schooner sped. Silent, lonesome, Hannah's at the window, binding slioes. 'Tis November ; Now no tear her wasted cheek bedews. From Newfoundland Not a sail returning will she lose ; 127 THE LIVING LOST. Whispering, hoarsely, " Fishermen, Have you, have you heard of Ben ? " Old with watching, Hannah's at the window, hinding shoes. Twenty Winters Bleach and tear the ragged shore she views: Twenty seasons ; Never one has brought her any news. Still her dim eyes silently Chase the white sails o'er the sea. Hopeless, faithful, Hannah's at the window, binding shoes. Lucy Larcom. THE LIVING LOST. Matron, the children of whose love. Each to his grave, in youth have passed, And now the mould is heaped above The dearest and the last ! Bride, who dost wear the widow's veil Before the wedding flowers are pale ! Ye deem the human heart endures No deeper, bitterer grief than yours. Yet there are pangs of keener woe. Of which the sufferers never speak, 128 ^t^-^^ ^^ir-7u> oAjoumO^ (^^ nj^xhUtz34La<>^ /ZaM^ THE LIVING LOST. Nor to the world's cold pity show The tears that scald the cheek, Wrung from their eyelids by the shame And guilt of those tliey shrink to name, Whom once they loved with cheerfid will. And love, though fallen and branded, still. Weep, ye who sorrow for the dead ; Thus breaking hearts their pain relieve ; And reverenced are the tears ye shed, And honored ye who grieve. The praise of those who sleep in earth. The pleasant memory of their worth, The hope to meet when life is past. Shall heal the tortured mind at last. But ye, who for the living lost That agony in secret bear, Who shall with soothing words accost The strength of your despair ? Grief for your sake is scorn for them Whom ye lament and all condemn ; And o'er the world of spirits lies A gloom from which ye turn your eyes. William Cull en Buyaxt. 129 LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT. I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side. On a bright May morning long ago. When first you were my bride ; The corn was springing fresh and green, And the lark sang loud and high ; And the red was on your lip, Mary, And the love-light in your eye. The place is little changed, Mary ; The day is bright as then ; The lark's loud song is in my ear, And the corn is green again ; But I miss the soft clasp of your hand. And your breath, warm on my cheek ; And I still keep listening for the words You never more will speak. 'Tis but a step down yonder lane, And the little church stands near. The church where we were wed, Mary : I see the spire from here. But the graveyard lies between, Mary, And my step might break your rest; For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, With your baby on your breast. 130 LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT. I'm very lonely now, Mary, For the poor make no new friends ; But O, they love the better still The few our Father sends ! And you were all I had, Mary, My blessing and my pride ; There's nothing left to care for now, Since my poor Mary died. Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, That still kept hoping on, When the trust in God had left my soul, And my arm's young strength was gone. There was comfort ever on your lip. And the kind look on your brow ; I bless you, Mary, for that same. Though you cannot hear me now. I thank you for the patient smile When your heart was fit to break. When the hunger pain was gnawing there And you hid it for my sake ; I bless you for the pleasant word When your heart was sad and sore : O, I'm thankful you are gone, Mary, Where grief can't reach you more ! I'm bidding you a long farewell, My Mary, kind and true ; But I'll not forget you, darling, In the land I'm going to. 131 A CHRISTMAS HYMN. They say there's bread and work for alL And the sun shines always there ; But I'll not forget old Ireland, Were it fifty times as fair ! And often in those grand old woods I'll sit, and shut my eyes. And my heart will travel back again To the place where Mary lies ; And I'll thinks. I see the little stile Where we sat side by side, And the springing corn, and the bright May morn, Wlien first you were my bride. Miis. Blackwood, (Lady Dufferin.) A CHRISTMAS HYMN. It was the calm and silent night ! Seven hundred years and fifty-three Had Rome been growing up to might. And now was queen of land and sea. No sound was heard of clashing wars : Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain ; Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars, Held undisturbed their ancient reign, In the solemn midnight. Centuries ago ! J.32 A CHRISTMAS HYMN. 'Twas in the calm and silent night ! The senator of haughty Rome Impatient urged his chariot's flight, From lordly revel rolling home. Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell His breast with thoughts of boundless sway; What recked the Roman what befell A paltry province far away. In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago ? Within that province far away Went plodding home a weary boor ; A streak of light before him lay, Fallen throuo-h a half shut stable door Across his path. He passed ; for naught Told what was going on within. How keen the stars ! his only thought : The air, how calm, and cold, and thin ! In the solemn midnight. Centuries ago. O strano;e indifference! — low and hio-h Drowsed over common joys and cares ; The earth was still, but knew not why ; The world was listening — unawares. How calm a moment may precede One that shall thrill the world forever I 133 THE POET'S CHRISTMAS. To that still moment, none would heed, Man's doom was linked no more to sever. In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago ! It is the calm and solemn night ! A thousand bells ring out, and throw Their joyous peals abroad, and smite The darkness — charmed and holy now ! The night that erst no name had worn. To it a happy name is given ; For in that stable lay, new-born. The peaceful Prince of earth and heaven, In the solemn midnight. Centuries ago ! Alfked Dommett. THE POET'S CHRISTMAS. Cold Christmas eve ! the muffled waits Are chiming in the frozen street ; Round pauper courts and princely gates The music lino-ers sweet. In many a happy curtained brain Dreams of to-morrow weave their spells, Till daylight, laughing at each pane, Comes with a, burst of bells. 134 THE POET'S CHRISTMAS. Blithe Christmas morn ! such lusty cheer, Such kindly greeting, friendly talk, Might make the roses of the year Flush Winter's frozen stalk, And fill the heart with throbs of Spring, And stir the soul with golden dreams ; For seraphs in the holly sing, Joy in the yule-fire gleams. Yet silence sits within my room, And coldness lies upon my hearth. Though 'tis an hour when ice of gloom Should feel the thaws of mirth. They say a spirit walks abroad To touch the stern and Horeb-heart, Until beneath the sacred rod The springs of pity start. They say the season bears a charm To melt the icicle of ill, To make the snowy bosom warm. And blunt the wintry chill. The world is merry with its wine. Its smoking meats, its smiling friends; It has its pleasures — I have mine ; So Heaven shall make amends ; The uplifting of a mouldered pall. The embers of a cold desire, The phantom shadows on my wall, The faces in the fire : 135 THE POET'S CHRISTMAS. These, with old hopes once nursed in vain, Old joys, old tears, old feelings fled. And that long, long remembered train, The army of the dead I My Christmas guests. With these I sit Through every shout, through every chime, A weary bird, condemned to flit Round darkening shores of Time. But constant cares and sorrows grow Familiar as a face we love ; And there are luxuries of woe Jove's banquet could not move. And if, at Fancy's wild command. Some form should mould itself from shade, Or throuo-h the o;loom I felt a hand Upon my shoulder laid, Scarce would I start — so long I've known That loneliness of life which gives The soul a phantom world its own. Wherein it silent lives. But let the world have joy without. The poet shall have joy within. Then wreathe old Christmas' face about, Down to his glowing chin ; No pleasure spare, no pastime shun. Each roof with social clouds be curled : 'Tis well ; for once beneath the sun There rolls a happy world ! James Macfarlane. 136 THE FAIRIES. Up tlie airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a hunting, For fear of Kttle men ; Wee folk, good folk. Trooping all together ; Green jacket, red cap. And white owl's feather ! Down along the rocky shore Some make their home: They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam ; Some in the reeds Of the black mountain-lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake. High on the hill-top The old king sits ; He is now so old and gray He's nigh lost his wits. With a brido;e of white mist Columbkill he crosses, K* 137 1 THE FAIRIES. On his stately journeys From Slieveleague to Rosses ; Or going up with music, On cold, starry nights, To sup with the queen Of the gay Northern Lights. They stole little Bridget For seven years long ; When she came down awiin o Her friends were all gone. They took her liglitly back, Between the night and morrow ; Tliey thought that she was fast asleep, But she was dead with sorrow. They have kept her ever since Deep within the lakes. On a bed of flag-leaves. Watching till she wakes. By the craggy hill-side. Through the mosses bare. They have planted thorn-trees For pleasure here and there ; Is any man so daring To dig one up in spite. He shall find the thornies set In his bed at nipht. to Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, 138 THE FAIRIES. For fear of little men ; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together Green jacket, red cap, , And white owl's feather ! William Allingiiam. 389 SUMMER DAYS. In Summer, when the clays were long, We walked together in the wood : Our heart was light, our step was strong ; Sweet flutterings were there in our blood, In Summer, wlien the days were long. We strayed from morn till evening came ; We gathered flowers, and wove us crowns ; We walked 'mid poppies red as flnme, Or sat upon the yellow downs. And always wished our life the same. In Summer, when the days were long. We leaped the hedgerow, crossed the brook ; And still her voice flowed forth in song. Or else she read some graceful book, In Summer, when the days were long. And then Ave sat beneath the trees. With shadows lessening in the noon ; And, in the sunlight and the breeze. We feasted, many a gorgeous June, While larks were sinorinor o'er the leas. 140 SUMMER DAYS. In Summer, when the days were long, On damty chicken, snow-white bread, We feasted, with no grace but song. We plucked wild strawberries, ripe and red, In Summer, when the days were long. We loved, and yet we knew it not ; For loving seemed like breathino; then. We found a heaven in every spot. Saw angels too, in all good men. And dreamed of God in grove and grot. In Summer, when the days are long. Alone I wander, muse alone. I see her not ; but that old sono; Under the fragrant wind is blown, In Summer, when the days are long. Alone I wander in the wood ; But one fair spirit hears my sighs ; And half I see, so glad and good, The honest daylight of her eyes. That charmed me under earlier skies. In Summer, when the days are long, I love her as we loved of old ; My heart is light, my step is strong ; For love brings back those hours of gold. In Summer, when the days are long. Anonymous. 141 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 'TwAS in the prime of summer time, An evening calm and cool, And four-and-twenty happy boys Came bomiding out of school ; There were some that ran and some that leapt. Like troutlets in a pool. Away they sped with gamesome mhids, And souls untouched by sin ; To a level mead they came, and there They drave the wickets in : Pleasantly shone the setting sun Over the town of Lynn. Like sportive deer they coursed about. And shouted as they ran, Tvu'ning to mirth all things of earth, As only boyhood can ; But the Uslier sat remote from all, A melancholy man. His hat was off, his vest apart. To catch heaven's blessed breeze ; For a burnincr thouo-ht was in his brow, And his bosom ill at ease ; 142 THE DREAM OF EUGEJNE ARAM. So he leaned his head on his hands, and read The book between his knees. Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er, Nor ever glanced aside ; For the peace of his soul he read that book In the golden eventide ; Much study had made him very lean. And pale, and leaden-eyed. At last he shut the ponderous tome ; With a fast and fervent grasp He strained the dusky covers close. And fixed the brazen hasp : '' O God ! could I so close my mind. And clasp it with a clasp ! " Then leaping on his feet upright, Some moody turns he took ; Now up the mead, then down the mead, And past a shady nook. And lo, he saw a little boy. That pored upon a book ! " My gentle lad, what is't you read ? Romance, or fairy fable ? Or is it some historic page, Of kings, and crowns unstable?" The young boy gave an upward glance : " It is ' The Death of Abel.' " 143 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. The Usher took six hasty strides, As smit with sudden pain, Six hasty strides beyond the place, Then slowly back again ; And down he sat beside the lad, And talked with him of Cain ; And, long since then, of bloody men, Whose deeds tradition saves ; And lonely folk cut off unseen. And hid in sudden graves ; And horrid stabs in groves forlorn. And murders done in caves. And how the sprites of injured men Shriek upward from the sod ; Aye ! how the ghostly hand will point To show the burial clod. And unknown facts of guilty acts Are seen in dreams from God ! He told how murderers walk the earth Beneath the curse of Cain, With crimson clouds before their eyes, And flames about their brain ; For blood has left upon their souls Its everlasting stain. " And well," quoth he, " I know, for truth, Their pangs must be extreme : 144 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. Woe, woe, unutterable woe, Who spill life's sacred stream ! For why ? Methought, last night I wrought A murder, in a dream. " One that had never done me wrong, A feeble man and old ; I led him to a lonely field ; The moon shone clear and cold : Now here, said I, this man shall die. And I will have his gold I " Two sudden blows with a rao^ged stick. And one with a heavy stone. One hurried gash with a hasty knife ; And then the deed was done : There was nothing lying at my feet But lifeless flesh and bone ! " Nothhig but lifeless flesh and bone. That could not do me ill ; And yet I feared him all the more. For lying there so still : There was a manhood in his look, That murder could not kill. " And lo, the universal air Seemed lit with ghastly flame ! Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes Were looking down in blame. 145 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM- I took the dead man by his hand, And called upon his name. " O God ! it made me quake to see Such sense within the slain ! But when I touched the lifeless clay, The blood gushed out amain ; For every clot a burning spot Was scorching in my brain. " My head was like an ardent coal, My heart as solid ice ; My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, Was at the Devil's price. A dozen times I groaned — the dead Had never groaned but twice ! "And now, from forth the frowning sky, From the heaven's topmost height, I heard a voice — the awful voice Of the blood-avenging Sprite : ' Thou guilty man ! take up thy dead, And hide it from my sight ! ' '' And I took the dreary body up. And cast it in a stream : The sluggish water black as ink. The depth was so extreme. My gentle boy, remember, this Is nothing but a dream. 146 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. " Down went the corse witli a hollow plunge, And vanished in the pool ; Anon I cleansed my bloody hands, And washed my forehead cool, And sat among the urchins young. That evening in the school. " O Heaven ! to think of their white souls, And mine so black and grim ! I could not share in childish prayer. Nor join in evening hymn ; Like a devil of the pit I seemed, 'Mid holy cherubim. " And Peace went with them, one and all, And each calm pillow spread ; But Guilt was my grim chamberlain. That lighted me to bed, And drew my midnight curtains round With fingers bloody red ! " All night I lay in agony, In anguish dark and deep ; My fevered eyes I dared not close, But stared aghast at Sleep ; For Sin had rendered unto her The keys of hell to keep ! " All night I lay in agony, From weary chime to chime ; 147 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. With one besetting, horrid hint, That racked ine all the time : A mighty yearning, like the first Fierce impulse unto crime : " One stern tyrannic thought, that made All other thoughts its slave. Stronger and stronger every pulse Did that temptation crave. Still urging me to go and see The dead man in his grave. " Heavily I rose up, as soon As light was in the sky. And sought the black accursed pool With a wild misgiving eye ; And I saw the dead in the river bed. For the faithless stream was drv- '•'- Merrily rose the lark, and shook The dew-drop from its wing ; But I never marked its morning flight, I never heard it sing ; For I was stooping once again Under the liorrid thing. " With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, I took him up and ran ; There was no time to dig a e-rave Before the day began ; us fc)* THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, I hid the murdered man ! " And all that day I read in school, But my thought was other where ; As soon as the mid-day task was done, In secret I was there ; And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, And still the corse was bare ! *' Then down I cast me on my face. And first began to weep, For I knew my secret then was one That earth refused to keep. Or land or sea, though he should be Ten thousand fathoms deep. '' So wills the fierce avenging Sprite, Till blood for blood atones ! Aye, though he's buried in a cave. And trodden down with stones, And years have rotted off his flesh. The world shall see his bones ! " O God ! that horrid, horrid dream Besets me now awake ! Again — again, with dizzy brain. The human life I take ; And my red right hand grows raging hot, Like Cranmer's at the stake. 149 WHEN STARS ARE IN THE QUIET SKIES. " And still no peace for the restless clay Will Avave or mould allow : The horrid thing pursues my soul ; It stands before me now ! " The fearful boy looked up, and saw Huge drops upon his brow. That very night, while gentle sleep The urchin's eyelids kissed. Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn Through the cold and heavy mist ; And Eugene Aram walked between. With gyves upon his wrist. ThOxMas Hood WHEN STARS ARE IN THE QUIET SKIES. When stars are in the quiet skies. Then most I pine for thee ; Bend on me then thy tender eyes. As stars look on the sea. For thoughts, like waves that glide by night, Are stillest when they shine ; Mine earthly love lies hushed in light Beneath the heaven of thine. There is an hour when angels keep Familiar watch o'er men. When coarser souls are wrapped in sleep ; Sweet spirit, meet me then ! 150 MADRIGAL. There is an hour when holy dreams Through slumber fairest glide, And in that mystic hour it seems Thou shouldst be by my side. My thoughts of tliee too sacred are For daylight's common beam ; I can but know thee as my star, My angel and my dream ! When stars are in the quiet skies, Then most I pine for thee ; Bend on me then thy tender eyes, As stars look on the sea. Edward Bulwek Lytton. MADRIGAL As I saw fair Chloris walk alone. The feathered rain came softly down, As Jove descendino^ from his tower To court her in a silver shower. The wanton snow flew to her breast. As little birds into their nest ; But, overcome with whiteness there. For grief dissolved into a tear ; Thence falling on her garment's hem. To deck her, froze into a gem. Anonymous. 151 LUCY. She dwelt among the untrodden ways, Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise, And very few to love : A violet by a mossy stone, Half hidden from the eye ; Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She Uved unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be ; But she is in her grave, and Q, The diflPerence to me ! William Wordsworth. 152 THE SAILOK. A ROMAIC BALLAD. Thou that hast a daughter For one to woo and wed, Give her to a husband With snow upon his head ; O, give her to an old man, Though httle joy it be, Before the best young sailor That sails upon the sea I How luckless is the sailor When sick and like to die ; He sees no tender mother, No sweetheart standing by. Only the captain speaks to him : " Stand up, stand up, young man ! And steer the ship to haven, As none beside thee can." Thou say'st to me, '' Stand up, stand up ! " I say to thee, Take hold ! Lift me a little from the deck ; My hands and feet are cold. And let my head, I pray thee, With handkerchiefs be bound ; 153 THE SAILOR. There ! take my love's gold handkerchief, And tie it tightly round. Now bring the chart, the doleful chart ; See, where these mountains meet ! The clouds are thick around their head. The mists around their feet. Cast anchor here ; 'tis deep and safe Within the rocky cleft : The little anchor on the right, The great one on the left. And now to thee, O captain, Most earnestly I pray. That they may never bury me In church or cloister gray ; But on the windy sea-beach. At the ending of the land. All on the surfy sea-beach. Deep down into the sand. For there will come the sailors ; Their voices I shall hear, And, at casting of the anchor. The yo-ho loud and clear. And, at hauling of the anchor. The yo-ho and the cheer. Farewell, my love, for to thy bay I neveimore may steer ! VVlLLIAM AlLINQHAM ir)4 THE MERRY CHASSEUR. O, a gallant sans-penr Is the meny chasseur, With his fanfaron horn, and his rifle, ping-pang ! And his grand haversack Of gold on his back : His pistol, cric-crac ! And his sword, cling-clang ! O, to see him blithe and gay From some hot and bloody day, Come to dance the night away till the bugle blows " au rang ! '" With a wheel and a whirl, And a wheeling waltzing girl, And his bow, " place aux dames ! " and his oath, " feu et sang ! " And his hop and his fling, Till his gold and silver ring To the clatter and the clash of his sword, cling-clang ! But hark ! Through the dark Up goes the well-known shout ! The drums beat the turn-out I Cut short your courting. Monsieur I'Amant I Saddle ! mount I march ! trot ! Down comes the storm of shot! The foe is at the charge ! En avant ! 1 55 dp:lk;ht in disorder. His jolly haversack Of gold is on his back ; Hear his pistol, cric-crac ! hear his rifle, i)ino-i)ano ! Vive TEinpereur ! And where' s the chasseur ? He's in Among the din. Steel to steel — clino'-clano- ! Sydnky Dohklt. DELIGHT IN DISORDER. A SWEET disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness : A lawn about the shoulders, thrown Into a tine distraction ; An erring lace, which here and there Inthrals the crimson stomacher ; A cuft' neglectfiil, and thereby Ribbons to flow confusedly ; A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat ; A careless shoestring, in whose tie I see a wild civility ; Do more bewitch me than when art Is too precise in every part. RoiiEKT HkUUICK. THE JOINERS. The moon is round and big, and full ( )f sometlnno' strano-e and beautiful : Fensivt3 and pale, she seems to lie, Couclied in tlie comfortable sky, Wistfully watching all among The stars, and troubled for her youii< '«' 157 THE JOINERS. II. The Joiner's wife is big, and full Of something strange and beautiful : Patient and still and pale she lies, A tender terror in her eyes, Wistfully, through the workshop door, Counting his footsteps on the floor. III. A restless and a troubled ray Hath vexed the Joiner's eye all day. As fretful firelight flickers o'er The chambers of the sick and poor ; But Love fills with religious light The chapel of his thoughts to-night, And consecrated tapers shine Above, before, around the shrine. His words are few and low and mild, As careful for a sleeping child. No cunning in his craft of late : Compass and plumb and rule must wait, 158 THE JOINERS. Till the Unerrino; Skill hath done The work his daring love begun. IV Two figures cross the Joiner's sill, Two prophecies, of Good and 111 ; 1 .")!» THE JOINERS. One paler, colder than the moon, The other like an April noon ; Two odors — this of churchyard mould. That as when fragrant buds unfjld ; V. " Good master, by your leave, you see Two joiners faring piteously. " Weary and famished, cold and sore, Warmth, rest, refreshment, we im})lore ; " So, master, be your roof-tree blest In coming and in parting guest, " And we your pity will requite With nimble handicraft to-nio;ht." VI. *' Well done ! " The strangers' hammers ring In measure to strange tunes they sing ; A dirge, a cradle-hymn they try, A requiem and a lullaby. VIT. The moon is gone, her place all dark, Where late she lay one struggling spark ! 160 TO LU CASTA. And she is " parting : " her vacant breast But coldly welcomes " the coming guest ; '* But they finished their work ere they went their way, A coffin grim and a cradle gay. John Williamson Palmer. -^^ TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS. Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde. That from the nunnerie Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde To warre and armes I flee. 161 THE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. True, a new mistresse noAv I chase, The first foe in tlie field ; And with a stronger faith imbrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you, too, shall adore ; I could not love thee, deare, so much. Loved I not honor more. Richard Lovklack THE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE Come live with me, and be my love. And we will all the pleasures prove That valleys, groves, hills, and fields. Woods or steepy mountains yields. There will we sit upon the rocks. Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sino; madrio;als. There will I make thee beds of roses, With a thousand fragrant posies ; A cap of flowers, and a kirtle, Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle ; 162 THE NYMPH'S REPLY A gown, made of the finest wool Which from our pretty lambs we pull ; Fair-Uned slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold ; A belt of straw, and ivy buds, With coral clasps and amber studs : And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me, and be my love. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing, For thy delight each May morning: If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me, and be my love. Christopher Marlowe. THE NYMPH'S REPLY. If that the world and love were young. And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move, To hve with thee and be thy love. But time drives flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold ; And Philomel becometh dumb, And all complain of cares to come. 163 THE NYMPH'S REPLY. The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward Winter reckoning yields ; A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's Spring, but sorrow's Fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses. Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies. Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten. In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps, and amber studs : All these in me no means can move To come to thee, and be thy love. But could youth last, and love still breed, Had joys no date, nor age no need. Then these dehghts my mind might move To live with thee, and be thy love. Sir Walter Raleigh. 164 TO THE UNSATISFIED. Why thus longing, thus forever sighing For the far-off, unattained and dim. While the beautiful, all round thee lying, Offers up its low perpetual hymn ? Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teachhig. All thy restless yearnings it would still : Leaf and flower, and laden bee, are preaching, Thine own sphere, though humble, first to fill. Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw ; If no silken cord of love hath bound thee To some little world, through weal and woe ; If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten. No fond voices answer to thine own ; If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten By daily sympathy and gentle tone. Not by deeds that win the crowd's applauses, Not by works tliat give thee world-renown, Not by martyrdom, or vaunted crosses. Canst thou win and wear the innnortal crown. u IG;") f TO THE UNSATISFIED. Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely. Every day a rich reward will give ; Thou wilt find by hearty striving only, And truly loving, thou canst truly live. Dost thou revel in the rosy morning, When all nature hails the lord of light, And his smile, the mountain-tops adorning, Rohes yon fragrant fields in radiance bright ? Other hands may grasp the field and forest, Proud proprietors in pomp may shine ; But with fervent love if thou adorest. Thou art wealthier — all the world is thine I Yet if through earth's wide domains thou rovest, Sighing that they are not thine alone. Not those fair fields, but thyself thou lovest. And their beauty, and thy wealth, are gone. Nature wears the color of the spirit ; Sweetly to her worshipper she sings ; All the glow, the grace she doth inherit. Round her trusting child she fondly flings. Hakiuet Winslow. 160 DIRGE IN CYMBELINE. To fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing Spring. No wailing ghost shall dare appear, To vex with shrieks this quiet grove ; But shepherd lads assemble here, And melting virgins own their love. No withered witch shall here be seen, No goblins lead their nightly crew ; The female fays shall haunt the green. And dress thy grave with pearly dew. The redbreast oft, at evening hours. Shall kindly lend his little aid. With hoary moss, and gathered flowers. To deck the ground where thou art laid. When howling winds and beating rain In tempests shake the sylvan cell. Or midst the chase, on every plain, The tender thought on thee shall dwell, 167 THE DIRGE OF IMOGEN. Each lonely scene shall thee restore, For thee the tear be duly shed : Beloved till Life can charm no more, And mourned till Pity's self be dead. William Collins THE DIRGE OF IMOGEN. Fear no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious Winter's rages ; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages Golden lads and girls all must. As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o' the great. Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ; Care no more to clothe and eat ; To thee the reed is as the oak. The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning-flash. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ; Fear not slander, censure rash ; Thou hast finished joy and moan : 168 YORK AND LANCASTER. All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust. No exorciser harm thee ! Nor no witchcraft charm thee ! Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! Nothing ill come near thee ! Quiet consummation have. And renowned be thy grave ! Shakspeare. YORK AND LANCASTER If this fair rose offend thy sight, Placed in thy bosom bare, 'Twill blush to find itself less white, And turn Lancastrian there. But if thy ruby lip it spy, As kiss it thou mayst deign. With envy pale 'twill lose its dye. And Yorkish turn again. Anonymous V* 169 THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread : Stitch, stitch, stitch ! In poverty, hunger, and dirt ; 170 /^^ A-^Z^^^ U-^^A^ ^ ^%^~t>-^^ y/^ ^^ -^/^ j^ ^ /X^ yX<.:^ / ^ J-Zr(^. X^t.^^e>^ THE SONG OF THE SHIKT. And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the " Song of the Shirt ! " " Work, work, work ! While the cock is crowing aloof; And work, work, work ! Till the stars shine through the roof. It's O ! to be a slave Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save, If this is Christian work ! " Work, work, work, Till the brain begins to swim ! Work, work, work. Till the eyes are heavy and dim ! Seam, and gusset, and band. Band, and gusset, and seam; Till over the buttons I fall asleep. And sew them on in a dream ! " O men, with sisters dear ! O men, with mothers and wives ! It is not linen you're wearing out. But human creatures' lives ! Stitch, stitch, stitch. In poverty, hunger, and dirt ; Sewing at once, with a double thread, A shroud as well as a shirt ! " But why do I talk of Death, That phantom of grisly bone ? 171 THE SONG OF THE SHHIT. I hardly fear his terrible shape, It seems so Hke my own ; It seems so hke my own Because of the fasts I keep ; O God ! that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap ! " Work, work, work ! My labor never flags ; And what are its wages ? A bed of straw, A crust of bread. — and rags. That shattered roof — and this naked floor, A table — a broken chair ; And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank P^or sometimes falling there ! " Work, work, work. From weary chime to chime ! Work, work, work. As prisoners work for crime ! Band, and gusset, and seam, Seam, and gusset, and band ; Till the heart is sick and the brain benumbed, As well as the weary hand. " Work, work, work. In the dull December light ! And work, work, work. When the weather is warm and bright ! While underneath the eaves The broodino; swallowa cliuo;, 172 THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. As if to sliow me tlieir sunny backs, And twit me with the Spring. " O ! but to breathe the breath Of the cowshp and primrose sweet. With the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet ! For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want. And the walk that costs a meal " O ! but for one short hour, A respite however brief! No blessed leisure for love or hope. But only time for grief! A little weeping would ease my heart ; But in their briny bed My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread ! " With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread. Stitch I stitch ! stitch ! In poverty, hunger, and dirt ; And still with a voice of dolorous pitch. Would that its tone could reach the ricli i She sano; this " Sono; of the Shirt ! " Thomas Hood. 173 ELEGY. Sleep on, my love, in tliy cold bed, Never to be disquieted ! My last good night ! Thou wilt not wake Till I thy fate shall overtake, Till age, or grief,, or sickness, must Marry my body to that dust It so much loves, and till the room My heart keeps empty in thy tomb. Stay for me there ; I will not faile To meet thee in that hollow vale ; And think not much of my delay : I am already on the way. And follow thee with all the speed Desire can make, or sorrows breed. Each minute is a short degree, And every hour a step towards thee; At night when I betake to rest. Next morn I rise nearer my west Of life, almost by eight houres saile, Than when sleep breathed his drowsie gale. Thus from the sun my bottom steares. And my dayes compass downward bears ; Nor labor I to stemme the tide Through which to thee I swiftly glide. 174 THE DEATH-BED. 'Tis true, with shame and grief I yield, Thou, like the vanne, first took'st the field, And gotten hast the victory. In thus adventuring to die Before me, whose more years might crave A just precedence in the grave. But hark I my pulse, like a soft drum. Beats my approach, tells thee I come ; And slow howe'er my marches be, I shall at last sit down by thee. The thought of this bids me go on. And wait my dissolution With hope and comfort. Dear, forgive The crime : I am content to live Divided, with but half a heart, Till we shall meet and 'never part. Henry King THE DEATH-BED. We watched her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. So silently we seemed to speak. So slowly moved about. As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out. 175 AULD ROBIN GRAY. Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes behecl ; We thought her dying when slie slept, And sleeping when she died. For when the morn came, dim and sad, And chill with early showers. Her quiet eyelids closed — slie had Another morn than ours. Thomas Hood. AULD ROBIN GRAY. When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, \Yhen a' the weary warld to quiet rest are gane, The woes of my heart fa' in showers frae my ee, Unkenned by my gudeman, who soundly sleeps by me. Youno^ Jamie lo'ed me weel, and souo;ht me for his bride ; But, saving ae crown piece, he'd naething else beside. To mak the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea ; And the crown and the pound, O they were baith for me ! Before he had been gane a twelvemonth and a day. My father brak his arm ; our cow was stown away ; My mother she fell sick — my Jamie was at sea ; And Auld Robin Gray, O he cam a-courting me ! 176 AULD KOBIN GRAi:. iVIy father cou'dna work — my mother cou'dna spin ; I toiled day and night, but their bread I cou'dna win ; Auld Rob maintained them baith ; and, wi' tears in his ee, Said, " Jenny, O ! for their sakes, will ye marry me ? " My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back ; l^ut hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack ; His ship it was a wrack ! Why didna Jamie dee ? Or wherefore am I spared to cry out. Woe is me I . My father argued sair — my mother didna speak, But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the sea ; And so Auld Robin Gray, he was gudeman to me. I hadna been his wife, a week but only four. When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at my door, I saw my Jamie's ghaist — I cou'dna think it he, Till he said, " I'm come hame, my love, to marry thee ! " sair, sair did we greet, and mickle say of a' ; Ae kiss we took, nae mair — I bade him ffano; awa. 1 wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee ; For O, I am but young to cry out, Woe is me ! I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin. I darena think o' Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; But I will do my best a gude wife aye to be ; For Auld Robin Gray, O ! he is sae kind to me. Lady Annk Lindsay. 177 NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAH^OR. I LOVE contemplating, apart From all his homicidal glojy, The traits that soften to our heart Napoleon's story. 'Twas when his banners at Boulogne Armed in our island every freeman, His navy chanced to capture one Poor British seaman. They suffered him, I know not how, Unprisoned on the shore to roam ; And aye was bent his longing brow On England's home. His eye, methinks, pursued the flight Of birds, to Britain half-way over, With envy — they could reach the white. Dear cliffs of Dover. A stormy midnight watch, he thought, Than this sojourn would have been dearer, If but the storm his vessel brought To Eno-land nearer. 178 NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAILOR. At last, when care had banished sleep. He saw one morning — dreaming — dothig, An empty hogshead from the deep Come shoreward floating ; He hid it in a cave, and wrought The livelong day laborious ; lurking. Until he launched a tiny boat, By mighty working. Heaven help us ! 'twas a thing beyond Description wretched ; such a wherry Perhaps ne'er ventured on a pond. Or crossed a ferry. For ploughing in the salt-sea field. It would have made the boldest shudder ; Untarred, uncompassed, and unkeeled; No sail — no rudder. From neighboring woods he interlaced His sorry skiff with wattled willows ; And, thus equipped, he would have passed The foaminof billows. & But Frenchmen caught him on the beach, His little Argo sorely jeering ; Till tidings of liim chanced to reach Napoleon's hearing. 179 NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAILOR. Witli folded arms Napoleon stood, Serene alike in peace and danger ; And, in his wonted attitude, Addressed the stranger: " Rash man, that would'st yon channel pass On twigs and staves so rudely fashioned ! Thy heart with some sweet British lass Must be impassioned." " I have no sweetheart," said the lad ; " But, absent long from one another, Great was the longing that I had To see my mother." " And so thou shalt," Naj)oleon said : " Ye've both my favor fairly won ; A noble mother must have bred So brave a son." He gave the tar a piece of gold, And, with a flag of truce, commanded He should be shipped to England Old, And safely landed. Our sailor oft could scantly shift To find a dinner, plain and hearty ; But never chano;ed the coin and gift Of Bonaparte. Thomas Campbell. 180 THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE, AT BALAKLAVA. Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward. All in the valley of Death, Rode the Six Hundred. Into the valley of Death Rode the Six Hundred ; For up came an order wliich Some one had blundered. " Forward, the Light Brigade ! Take the guns ! " Nolan said ; Into the valley of Death, Rode the Six Hundred. " Forward, the Lio-ht BnVade ! '" No man was there dismayed. Not thouo-h the soldiers knew Some one had blundered : Theirs not to make reply. Theirs not to reason why. Theirs but to do and die ; Into the valley of Death, Rode the Six Hundred. V* 181 THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. Cannon to riglit of them, Cannon to left of tliem, Cannon in front of them, Volleyed and thundered. Stormed at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well ; Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell, Rode the Six Hundred. Flashed all their sabres bare. Flashed aii at once in air, 182 THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. j Sabring the gunners there, i Charging an army, while ,] All the world wondered. Plunged in the battery smoke, With many a desperate stroke The Russian line they broke • Then they rode back — but not, Not the Six Hundred. j Cannon to right of them. Cannon to left of them. Cannon behind them, | Volleyed and thundered. Stormed at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell, 1 Those that had fought so well i Came from the jaws of Death, I Back from the mouth of Hell, \ All that was left of them, j Left of Six Hundred. When can their glory fade ? ! the wild charge they made ! All the world wondered. Honor the cliarge they made ! , Honor the Light Brigade, _ . Noble Six Hundred ! J Alkukd Tennysox. I i .83 CRADLE SONG. What is the little one tliinkino; about? Very wonderful things, no doubt: Unwritten history ! Unfathomed mystery ! Yet he chuckles, and crows, and nods, and winks, As if his head were as full of kinks And curious riddles as any sphinx ! Warped by colic, and wet by tears. Punctured by pins, and tortured by fears, Our little nephew will lose two years ; And he'll never know Where the Summers go : He need not laugh, for he'll find it so ! Who can tell what a baby thinks ? Who can follow the gossamer links By which the manikin feels his way Out from the shore of the great unknown, Blind, and wailing, and alone. Into the light of day ? Out from the shore of the unknown sea, Tossing in pitiful agony ; Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls, Specked with the barks of little souls : 184 CRADLE SONG. Barks tliat were launched on tlie other side, And slipped from Heaven on an ebbing tide ! What does he think of his mother's eyes ? What does he think of his mother's hair ? What of the cradle-roof, that flies Forward and backward throuo;h the air ? What does he think of his mother's breast, Bare and beautiful, smooth and white. Seeking it ever with fresh delight. Cup of his life and couch of his rest ? What does he think when her quick embrace Presses his hand, and buries his face Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell. With a tenderness she can never tell, Thouo-li she murmur the words Of all the birds. Words she has learned to murmur well ? Now he thinks he'll go to sleep ! I can see the shadow creej) Over his eyes in soft eclipse. Over his brow and over his li])s. Out to his little finger-tips ! Softly sinking, down he goes ! Down he goes ! Down he goes ! See ! He's hushed in sweet repose ! JOSIAII GiLBKKT Hoi.LAXD. 185 HE STANDETH AT THE DOOR AND KNOCKETH. In the silent midnight watches, List — thy bosom door ! How it knocketh — knocketh — knocketh, Knocketh evermore ! Say not 'tis thy pulse's beating : 'Tis thy heart of sin ; 'Tis thy Saviour knocks, and crieth " Rise, and let me in 1 " Death comes on with reckless footsteps. To the hall and hut : Think you Death will tarry, knocking, Where the door is shut ? Jesus waiteth — waiteth — waiteth. But the door is fast ; Grieved, away thy Saviour goeth ; Death breaks in at last. Then 'tis time to stand entreatinor Christ to let thee in : At the gate of Heaven beating, Wailing for thy sin. 186 THE CROOKED FOOTPATH. Nay ! — alas, thou guilty creature ! Hast thou, then, forgot ? Jesus waited long to know thee ; Now he knows thee not. Arthur Cleveland Coxe THE CROOKED FOOTPATH. Ah, here it is I the sliding rail That marks the old remembered spot, The gap that struck our schoolboy trail. The crooked path across the lot. It left the road by school and church : A pencilled shadow, nothing more, That parted from the silver birch And ended at the farmhouse door. No line or compass traced its plan ; With frequent bends to left or right, In aimless, wayward curves it ran, But always kept the door in sight. The gabled porch, with woodbine green. The broken millstone at the sill. Though many a rood might stretch between. The truant child could see them still. 187 THE CKOOKED FOOTPATH. No rocks across the pathway lie, No fallen trunk is o'er it thrown ; And yet it winds, we know not why, And turns as if for tree or stone. Perhaps some lover trod the way, With shaking knees and leaping heart ; And so it often runs astray, With sinuous sweep or sudden start. Or one, perchance, with clouded brain. From some unholy banquet reeled ; And since, our devious steps maintain His track across the trodden field. Nay, deem not thus : — no earth-born wilJ Could ever trace a faultless line ; Our truest steps are human still, To walk unswerving were divine. Truants from love, we dream of wrath ; O, rather let us trust the more ! Through all the w^anderings of the path. We still can see our Father's door ! Oliver Wendell Holmes. VANITAS. I've set my heart upon notliing, you see: Hurrah ! And so the world goes well with nie : Hurrah ! And who has a mind to be fellow of mine, Why, let him take hold and help me drain These mouldy lees of wine, vv 189 VANITAS. T set mj heart at first upon wealtli : Hurrah ! And bartered away my peace and health ; But ah ! The slippery change went about hke air, And when I had clutched a handful here, Away it went there. r set my heart upon woman next : Hurrah ! For her sweet sake was oft perplexed ; But ah ! The false one looked for a daintier lot ; The constant one wearied me out and out ; The best was not easily got. I set my heart upon travels grand : Hurrah ! And spurned our plain old fatherland ; But ah ! Naught seemed to be just the thing it should : Most comfortless beds and indifferent food, My tastes misunderstood. I set my heart upon sounding fame : Hurrah ! And, lo ! I'm eclipsed by some upstart's name ; And ah ! When in public life I loomed quite high, The folk that passed me would look awry ; Their very worst friend was I. 190 ¥ THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. And then I set my heart upon war : Hurrah ! We gained some battles with eclat : Hurrah ! We troubled the foe with sword and flame, And some of our friends fared quite the same, I lost a leg for fame. Now I've set my heart upon nothing, you see : Hurrah ! And the whole wide world beloncrs to me : Hurrah ! The feast begins to run low, no doubt ; But at the old cask we'll have one o;ood bout ! Come ! drink the lees all out ! JoHANN Wolfgang von Goethe. (German.) Translation of John Sullivan Dwight. THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged ! 'tis at a white heat now : The bellows ceased, the flames decreased ; though, on the forge's brow. The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound, And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round ; All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare, Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass tJiere. 191 THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. The windlass strains the tackle-chains — the black mould heaves below ; And, red and deep, a hundred veins burst out at every throe. It rises, roars, rends all outright — O, Vulcan ! what a glow ! 'Tis blinding: white, 'tis blastino- brio-ht — the hicvh sun shines not so! The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery, fearful show ! The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy lurid row Of smiths, that stand, an ardent band, like men before the foe ! As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster slow Sinks on the anvil — all about, the faces fiery grow. " Hurrah ! " they shout, " leap out, leap out ! " bang, bang ! the sledges go : Hurrah ! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low ; A hailing fount of fire is struck at every squashing blow ; The leathern mail rebounds the hail ; the rattling cinders strow The ground ai'ound ; at every bound the sweltering fountains flow ; And, thick and loud, the s winking crowd at every stroke pant ''ho!" Leap out, leap out, my masters ! leap out, and lay on load ! Let's forge a goodly anchor — a bower thick and broad ; For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode ; And I see the good ship riding, all in a perilous road : The low reef roaring on her lee ; the roll of ocean poured From stem to stern, sea after sea ; the mainmast by the board ; The bulwarks down ; the rudder gone ; the boats stove at the chains ; But courage still, brave mariners — the bower yet remains! And not an inch to flinch he deigns — save when ye pitch sky high ; Then moves his head, as though he said, '' Fear nothing — here am I ! " Swing in your strokes in order ! let foot and hand keep time ; Your blows make music sweeter far than any steeple's chime. 192 THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. But while ye swing your sledges, sing ; and let the burden be, The anchor is the anvil-king, and royal craftsmen we ! Strike in, strike in ! — the sparks begin to dull their rustling red ; Our hammers ring with sharper din — our work will soon be sped : Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery rich array For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy couch of clay ; Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry craftsmen here For the yeo-heave-o, and the heave-away, and the sighing seamen's cheer, When, weighing slow, at eve they go, far, far from love and home ; A.nd sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er the ocean foam. In livid and obdurate gloom, he darkens down at last ; A shapely ojie he is, and strong, as e'er from cat was cast. O trusted and trustworthy guard ! if thou hadst life like me, What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the deep green sea ! O deep-sea diver, who might then behold such sights as thou ? The hoary monster's palaces! — Methinks what joy 'twere now To go plumb-plunging down, amid the assembly of the whales. And feel the churned sea round me boil beneath their scourging tails ! Then deep in tangle-woods to fight the fierce sea-unicorn. And send him foiled and bellowing back, for all his ivory horn ; To leave the subtle sworder-fish of bony blade forlorn ; And for the ghastly-grinning shark, to laugh his jaws to scorn ; To leap down on the kraken's back, where 'mid Norwegian isles He lies, a lubber anchorage for sudden shallowed miles. Til], snorting like an under-sea volcano, off he rolls ; Meanwhile to swing, a-bufieting the far astonished shoals Of his back-browsing ocean-calves ; or, haply, in a cove Shell-strown, and consecrate of old to some Undine's love, w* 193 THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. To find the long-haired mermaidens ; or, hard by icy lands, To wrestle with the sea-serpent, upon cerulean sands. O broad-armed fisher of the deep I whose sports can equal thine ? The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons that tugs thy cable line ; And night by night 'tis thy delight, thy glory day by day, Through sable sea and breaker white the giant game to play. But, shamer of our little sports, forgive the name I gave : A fisher's joy is to destroy — thine office is to save. O lodger in the sea-kings' halls ! couldst thou but understand Whose be the white bones by thy side — or who that drip])ing band. Slow swaying in the heaving wave, that round about thee bend, With sounds like breakers in a dream blessing their ancient friend ! O, couldst thou know what heroes ghde with larger steps round thee. Thine iron side would swell with pride — thou 'dst leap within the sea ! Give honor to their memories who left the pleasant strand To shed their blood so freely for the love of fatherland. Who left their chance of quiet age and grassy churchyard grave So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing wave ! O, though our anchor may not be all I have fondly sung, Honor him for their memory whose bones he goes among ! Samuel Fekguson. 194 THE LAWLANDS O' HOLLAND. The love that I hae chosen, I '11 therewith be content ; The saut sea sail be frozen Before that I repent. Repent it sail I never Until the day I dee ; But the Lawlands o' Holland Hae twinned my love and me. My love he built a bonny ship, And set her to the main, Wi' twenty-four brave mariners To sail her out and hame. But the wear}^ wind began to rise, The sea began to rout, And my love and his bonny ship Turned withershins about ! There sail nae mantle cross my back, No kaim gae in my hair, Neither sail coal nor candle-light Shine in my bower mair; Nor sail I choose anither love Until the day I dee, Sin' the Lawlands o' Holland Hae twinned my love and me. Noo baud your tongue, my daughter : Be still, and bide content; 195 THE FLOWEK OF BEAUTY. There 's ither lads in Galloway : Ye needna sair lament." there is nane in Galloway, There 's nane at a' for me ! 1 never lo'ed a lad but ane, And he 's drowned in the sea. Anonymous. THE FLOWER OF BEAUTY. Sweet in her green dell the flower of beauty slumbers, Lulled by the faint breezes sighing through her hair ; Sleeps she, and hears not the melancholy numbers Breathed to my sad lute amid the lonely air. Down from the high cliffs the rivulet is teeming, To wind round the willow banks that lure him from above ; O that, in tears, from my rocky prison streaming, I, too, could glide to the bower of my love ! Ah ! where the woodbines, with sleepy arms, have wound her, Opes she her eyehds at the dream of my lay, Listening, like the dove, while the fountains echo round her, To her lost mate's call in the forests far away ! Come, then, my bird ! for the peace thou ever bearest. Still heaven's messenger of comfort to me ! Come ! this fond bosom, my faithfullest, my fairest, Bleeds with its death-wound — but deeper yet for thee. George Daiilp:y 196 POOR JACK. Go patter to lubbers and swabs, d'ye see, 'Bout danger, and fear, and the like ; A tight-water boat and good sea-room give me. And it a'n't to a little I'll strike. Though the tempest topgallant-mast smack smooth should smite, And shiver each splinter of wood, Clear the deck, stow the yards, and bouse everything tight, And under reefed foresail we'll scud. Avast ! nor don't think me a milksop so soft To be taken for trifles aback ; For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft. To keep watch for the life of poor Jack ! 1 heard our good chaplain palaver one day About souls, heaven, mercy, and such ; And my timbers ! what lingo he'd coil and belay ! Why, 'twas just all as one as High Dutch ; For he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye see. Without orders that come down below ; And a many fine things that proved clearly to me That Providence takes us in tow ; For, says he, do you mind me, let storms ne'er so oft Take the topsails of sailors aback. There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft, To keep watch for the hfe of poor Jack ! 197 POOR JACK. I said to our Poll — for, d'ye see, she would cry. When last we weighed anchor for sea : What argufies snivelling, and piping your eye ? Why what a damned fool you must be ! Can't you see the world's wide, and there's room for us all, Both for seamen and lubbers ashore ? And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll, You never will hear of me more. What then ? All's a hazard ; come, don't be so soft : Perhaps I may laughing come back ; For, d'ye see, there's a cherub sits smiling aloft, To keep watch for the life of poor Jack ! D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch All as one as a piece of the ship, And with her brave the world, not offering to flinch From the moment the anchor's a-trip. As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides and ends, Naught's a trouble from a duty that springs ; For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's my friend's. And as for my life, 'tis the king's. Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft As for grief to be taken aback. For the same little cherub that sits up aloft Will look out a good berth for poor Jack ! Charles Diudin. 198 WE PARTED IN SILENCE. We ])arte(l in silence, we parted bj night, On the banks of that lonely river ; Where the fragrant limes their boughs unite, We met — and we parted forever! The night-bird sang, and the stars above Told many a touching story Of friends long passed to the kingdom of love, Where the soul wears its mantle of glory. We parted in silence ; our cheeks were wet With the tears that were past controlling ; We vowed we would never — no, never — forget, And those vows at the time were consoling ; But those li])s that echoed the sounds of mine Are as cold as that lonel}^ river ; And that eye, the beautiful spirit's shrine. Has shrouded its fires forever. And now on the midnight sky I look, And my heart grows fiill of weeping ; Each star is to me a sealed book, Some tale of that loved one keeping. 199 THE SANDS O' DEE. We parted in silence, we parted in tears, On the banks of that lonely river; But the odor and bloom of those by-gone years Shall hang o'er its waters forever. eJuLiA Crawford. THE SANDS O' DEE. O Mary, go and call the cattle home. And call the cattle home. And call the cattle home, 200 <4 X \ H :^ 4^'^ ^ ? THE SANDS O' DEE. Across the sands o' Dee ! " The western wind was wild, and dank wi' foam, And all alone went she. The creeping tide came up along the sand. And o'er and o'er the sand. And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see ; The blinding mist came down and hid the land. And never home came she. .^^ '* O is it weed, or fisli, or floating hair, A tress o' golden hair, O' drowned maiden's hair, Above the nets at sea? Was never salmon yet that shone so fair, Among the stakes on Dee." They rowed her in across the rolling foam. The cruel, crawling foam, The cruel, hungry foam, X 201 THE RECONCILIATION. To her grave beside the sea ; But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle homo Across the sands o' Dee- Charles Kingslky. THE RECONCILIATION. As through the land at eve we went, And plucked the ripened ears, We fell out, my wife and I, O we fell out, I know not why, And kissed again with tears. For when we came where lies the child We lost in other years. There, above the little grave, O there, above the little grave. We kissed again with tears. Alfred Tennyson. 202 THE (iARKK/r O, IT was here that Love his gifts bestowed On Youth's wild age ! Gladly once more I seek my youth's abode, In pilgTimage : Here my young mistress with her poet dared Reckless to dwell ; She was sixteen, I twenty — and we shared This attic cell. Yes, 'twas a garret ! be it known to all. Here was Love's shrine ; There read, in charcoal traced along the wall, The unfinished line. Here was the board where kindred hearts would blend The Jew can tell How oft I pawned my watch to feast a friend In attic cell. O, my Lisette's fair form could I recall With fairy wand ! There she would blind the window with her shawl : Bashful, yet fond. •20?, THE GARRET. Wliat thouo;h from whom she orot her dress I've since Learned but too well ? Still in those days I envied not a prince, In attic cell. Here the glad tidings on our banquet burst, 'Mid the bright bowls : Yes, it was here Marengo's triumph first Kindled our souls ! Bronze cannon roared ; France with redoubled might, Felt her heart swell ; Proudly we drank our Consul's health that night In attic cell ! Dreams of my youthful days ! I'd freely give. Ere my life's close. All the dull days I'm destined yet to live. For one of those. Where shall I now find raptures that were felt, Joys that befell. And hopes that dawned at twenty, when I dwelt In attic cell ? PiKRRp^. Jean de BERANCrER. (French. > Translation of Fka>(i.s Maik^.ny. (Father Proiit.) 204 MAUD MULLER. Maud Muller, on a summer s clay, Raked the meadow, sweet witli hay. Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth Of simple beauty and rustic health. Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee The mock-bird echoed fi-otn his tree. 20n MAUD MULLP]R. But when she glanced to the far-off town, Wlilte from its hill-slope looking down, TJie sweet son^ died, and a vao;ue unrest And a nameless lonmno; filled her breast : A wish, that she hardly dared to own. For something better than she had known. The Judge rode slowly down the lane, Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. He drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, And ask a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow, across the road. She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up. And filled for him her small tin cuj). And blushed as she gave it, looking down On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. "Thanks!" said the Jud^e, " a sweeter drauo-lit From a fairer hand was never quaffed." He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, Of the singing birds and the humming bees ; 206 MAUD MULLER. Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether The cloud hi the west would brino; foul weather. And Maud forgot her briar-torn gown, And her graceful ankles, bare and brown, And listened, while a pleased surprise Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. At last, like one who for delay Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. Maud Muller looked, and sighed : '' Ah me ! That I the Judge's bride might be ! '' He would dress me up in silks so fine, And praise and toast me at his wine. " My father should wear a broadcloth coat ; My brother should sail a painted boat. " I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, And the baby should have a new toy each day. "And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor. And all should bless me who left our door." The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill. And saw Maud Muller standing; still : 207 MAUD MULLKR " A form more fair, a face more sweet, Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet; " And her modest answer and graceful air Show her wise and good as she is fair. " Would she were mine, and I to-day, Like her, a harvester of hay. 208 MAUD MULLER. "No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues ; '^ But low of cattle and song of birds, And health, and quiet, and loving words." But he thought of his sister, proud and cold, And his mother, vain of her rank and gold. So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on ; And Maud was left in the field alone. But the lawyers smiled that afternoon. When he hummed in court an old love-tune And the young girl mused beside the well, Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. He wedded a wife of richest dower. Who lived for fashion, as he for power. Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, He watched a picture come and go ; And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes Looked out in their innocent surprise. Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, He longed for the wayside well instead ; Y 209 MAUD MULLEK. And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms. To dream of meadows and clover-blooms ; And the prond man sighed with a secret ]jaiii " Ah, that I were free again ! " Free as when I rode that day Where the barefoot maiden raked the hay." She wedded a man unlearned and poor, And many children played round her door. But care and sorrow, and child-birth pain, Left their traces on heart and brain. And oft, when the summer sun shone hot On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot, 210 MAUD MULLER. And she heard the httle spring-brook fall Over the roadside, through the wall, In the shade of the apple-trees again She saw a rider draw his rein, And, gazing down with a timid grace. She felt his pleased eyes read her face. Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls Stretched away into stately halls ; The weary wheel to a spinnet turned, The tallow candle an astral burned ; And for him who sat by the chimney lug, Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, A manly form at her side she saw. And joy was duty, and love was law. Then she took up her burden of life again. Saying only, "It might have been." Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, For rich repiner and household drudge ! God pit}^ them both ! and pity us all. Who vainly the dreams of youtli recall ; 211 O, WEEL BEFA' THE MAIDEN GAY. For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these : "It mi^ht have been ! " Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies Deeply buried from human eyes ; And, in the hereafter, angels may Roll the stone from its grave away ! John Greenleai Wtiittiei O, WEEL BEFA' THE MAIDEN GAY. O, WEEL befa' the maiden gay. In cottage, bught, or penn ! An' weel befa' the bonny May That wons in yonder glen ! Wha lo'es the modest truth sae weel, Wlia's aye sae kind, an' aye sae leal, An' pure as blooming asphodel Amang sae mony men ! O, weel befa' the bonny thing That wons in yonder glen ! 'Tis sweet to hear the music float Alang the gloaming lea ; 'Tis sweet to hear the blackbird's note Come pealing frae the tree ; 212 O, WEEL 13EFA' THE MAIDEN GAY. To see the lambkin's lightsome race, The dappled kid in wanton chase, The young deer cower in lonely place, Deep in his flowery den ; But sweeter far the bonny fa:'e That smiles in yonder glen ! O, had it no' been for the blush O' maiden's virgin flame, Dear Beauty never had been known. An' never had a name ; But aye sin' that dear thing o' blame Was modelled by an angel's frame. The power o' beauty reigns supreme O'er a' the sons o' men ; But deadliest far the sacred flame Burns in a lonely glen ! There's beauty in the violet's vest. There's hinny in the haw ; There's dew within the rose's breast. The sweetest o' them a' ; The sun will rise and set again, An' lace wi' burning gowd the main. The rainbow bend out-ower the plain, Sae lovely to the ken ; But lovelier far the bonny thing That wons in yonder glen ! James Hogg Y * 213 THE LAND O' THE LEAL. I'm wearin' awa', Jean, Like snaw in a thaw, Jean ; I'm wearin' awa' To the Land o' the Leah There's nae sorrow there, Jean ; There's neither cauld nor care, Jean The day is ever fair In the Land o' the Leal. You've been leal and true, Jean ; Your task's ended now, Jean; And I'll welcome you To the Land o' the Leal. Then dry that tearfu' ee, Jean ! My soul langs to be free, Jean ; And angels wait on me To the Land o' the Leal. Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean, She was baith gude and fair, Jean ; And we grudged her sair To the Land o' the Leal ! But sorrow's sel' wears past, Jenn, And joy's a-comin' fast, Jean : The joy that's aye to last. In the Land o' the Leal. 214 THE THREE SONS. A' our friends are gane, Jean ; We've lang been left alane, Jean ; We'll a' meet again In the Land o' the Leal. Now, fare ye weel, my ain Jean ! This world's care is vain, Jean ; We'll meet, and ay' be fain, In the Land o' the Leal. Caroline, Lady Nairn. THE THREE SONS. I HAVE a son, a little son, a boy just five years old. With eyes of thoughtful earnestness, and mind of gentle mould. They tell me that unusual grace in all his ways appears, That my child is grave, and wise of heart, beyond his childish years. I cannot say how this may be : I know his face is fair ; And yet his chiefest comeliness is his sweet and serious air. I know his heart is kind and fond ; I know he loveth me ; But loveth yet his mother more, with grateftil fervency. But that which others most admire, is the thought which fills his mind, The food for grave inquiring speech he everywhere doth find. Strange questions doth he ask of me, when we together walk ; He scarcely thinks as children think, or talks as children talk. Nor cares he much for childish sports, dotes not on bat or ball. But looks on manhood's ways and works, and aptly mimics all. His little heart is busy still, and oftentimes perplext With thoughts about this world of ours, and thoughts about tlie next. 215 THE THREE SONS. He kneels at his dear mother's knee ; she teacheth him to pray ; And strange, and sweet, and solemn then are the words which he will say, O, should my gentle child be spared to manhood's years like me, A holier and a wiser man I trust that he will be ; And when I look into his eyes, and stroke his thoughtful brow, I dare not think what I should feel, were I to lose him now. I have a son, a second son, a simple child of three ; I'll not declare how bright and fair his little features be. How silver sweet those tones of his when he prattles on my knee. I do not think his light-blue eye is, like his brother's, keen. Nor his brow so full of childish thought as his hath ever been ; But his little heart's a fountain pure of kind and tender feeling; And his every look's a gleam of light, rich depths of love revealing. When he walks with me, the country folk, who pass us in the street, Will shout for joy, and bless my boy, he looks so mild and sweet. A playfellow is he to all ; and yet, with cheerful tone. Will sing his little song of love, when left to sport alone. His presence is like sunshine, sent to gladden home and hearth. To comfort us in all our griefs, and sweeten all our mirth. Should he grow up to riper years, God grant his heart may prove As sweet a home for heavenly grace as now for earthly love; And if, beside his grave, the tears our aching eyes must dim, God comfort us for all the love which we shall lose in him ! I have a son, a third sweet son ; his age I cannot tell, For they reckon not by years and months where he is gone to dwell. To us, for fourteen anxious months, his infant smiles were given ; And then he bade farewell to Earth, and went to live in Heaven. I cannot tell what form is his, what looks he Aveareth now, 216 ► ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. Nor guess how bright a glory crowns his shining seraph brow. The thoughts that fill his sinless soul, the bliss which he doth feel, Are numbered with the secret things which God will not reveal. But I know (for God hath told me this) that he is now at rest, Where other blessed infants be, on their Saviour's loving breast. [ know his spirit feels no more this weary load of flesh. But his sleep is blessed with endless dreams of joy forever fresh. I know the ano-els fold him close beneath their glitterincr wings, And soothe him with a sons; that breathes of Heaven's divinest things. [ know that we shall meet our babe, (his mother dear and I,) Where God for aye shall wipe away all tears from every eye. Whate'er befalls his brethren twain, his bliss can never cease ; Their lot may here be grief and fear, but his is certain peace. It may be that the Tempter's wiles their souls from bliss may sever; But, if our own poor faith fail not, he must be ours forever. When we think of what our darling is, and what we still must be. When we muse on that world's perfect bliss, and this world's misery. When we groan beneath this load of sin, and feel this grief and pain, O, we'd rather lose our other two, than have him here again ! John Moultrie. ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. Much have I travelled in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne ; 217 ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. Yet did I never breatlie its j)ure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold : Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific ; and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise — Silent, upon a peak in Darien. John Keats. 218 THE VIOLET. O FAINT, delicious, spring-time violet. Thine odor, like a key, Turns noiselessly in memory's wards, to let A thoiiffht of* sorrow free ! The breath of distant fields upon my brow Blows through that open door The sound of wind-borne bells, more sweet and low And sadder than of yore. It comes afar, from that beloved place. And that beloved hour, When life hung ripening in love's golden grace, Like grapes above a bower. A spring goes singing through its reedy grass ; The lark sings o'er my head. Drowned m tlie sky — O pass, ye visions, pass! I would that I were dead ! Why hast thou opened that forbidden door From which I ever flee ? O vanished Joy ! O Love, that art no more. Let my vexed spirit be ! O violet ! thine odor througli my brani Hath searched, and stuno- to orief This sunny day, as if a curse did stain Thy velvet leaf. William Wetmoije IStoey 219 ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL. Love in my bosom, like a bee, Doth suck his sweet ; Now with his. wings he plays with me, Now with his feet; Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast ; My kisses are his daily feast ; And yet he robs me of my rest : Ah, wanton ! will ye ? And if I sleep, then percheth he With pretty flight. And makes his pillow of my knee The livelono; ni^-ht. Strike I my lute, he tunes the string ; He music plays if so I sing ; He lends me every lovely thing ; Yet cruel he my heart doth sting : Whist, wanton ! still ye ! Klse I with roses every day Will whip you hence. And bind you when you long to play, For your offence ; 220 VIRTUE. I'll shut mine eyes to keep you in, I'll make you fast it for your sin, I'll count your power not worth a pin : Alas ! what hereby shall I win If he gainsay me ? What if I beat the wanton boy. With many a rod ? He will repay me with annoy, Because a god. Then sit thou safely on my knee, And let thy bower my bosom be ; Lurk in mine eyes — I like of thee. O Cupid, so thou pity me. Spare not, but play thee ! Thomas Lodge. VIRTUE. Sweet day ! so cool, so calm, so bright. The bridal of the earth and sky ! The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet rose ! whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave ; And thou must die. z 221 SONG. Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, Thy music shows ye have your closes ; And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives ; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives. George Herbeut. SONG. The world goes up, and the world goes down. And the sunshine follows the rain ; And yesterday's sneer and yesterday's frown Can never come over again. Sweet wife. No, never come over again. For woman is warm though man be cold. And the night will hallow the day ; Till the heart which at even Avas weary and old Can rise in the morning gay. Sweet wife. To its work in the morning gay. Charles Kingsley. 222 WALY, WALY, BUT LOVP: BE BONNY. WALY, waly, up the bank ! waly, waly, down tlie brae ! And waly, waly yon burn-side, Where I and my love wont to gae ! 1 leaned my back unto an aik ; 1 thocht it was a trusty tree ; But first it bowed, and syne it brak : Sae my true love did lightly me ! O waly, waly ! but love be bonny A little time, while it is new ; But when it 's auld it waxeth cauld, And fadeth awa' like the morning dew. O wherefore should I busk my heid ? Or wherefore should I kame my hair ? For my true love has me forsook, And says he'll never loe me mair. Noo Arthur's Seat sail be ray bed : The sheets sail ne'er be fyled by me ; Saint Anton's well sail be my drink, Sin' my true love 's forsaken me. 223 WALY, WALY, BUT LOVE BE BONNY. Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves afF the tree ? O gentle Death, when wilt thou come ? For of my life I'm weary. 'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, Nor blawing snaw's inclemency ; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my love's heart grown cauld to me. When we cam in by Glasgow town. We were a comely sight to see ; My love was clad in the black velvet, And I mysel' in cramasie. But had I wist, before I kissed. That love had been sae ill to win, I'd locked my heart in a case o' gowd, And pinned it wi' a siller pin. O, O ! if my young babe were born. And set upon the nurse's knee. And I mysel' were dead and gane, And the green grass growin' over me ! Anonymous. 224 ¥ THE WELCOME. I. Come in the evening, or come in the morning; Come when you're looked for, or come without warning ; Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you. And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you ! Light is my heart since the day we were plighted; Red is my cheek, that they told me was blighted ; The green of the trees looks far greener than ever. And the linnets are singing "True lovers don't sever!" II. I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose them ! Or, after you've kissed them, they'll lie on my bosom. I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire you ; I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tire you. O ! your step's like the rain to the summer-vexed farmer, Or sabre and shield to a knight without armor. I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above me ; Then, wandering, I'll wish you, in silence, to love me. III. We'll look through the trees at the cliff and the eyrie ; We'll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy ; We'll look on the stars, and we'll list to the river. Till you ask of your darling, what gift you can give her. AA 225 THE WELCOMK. O she'll whisper you — '' Love, as unchangeably beannng And trust, when in secret, most tunefully streaming ; " Till the starlight of Heaven above us shall quiver, As our souls flow in one down Eternity's river. IV. So come in the evening, or come in the morning; _ Come wl>en you're looked for, or come without warnmg 9'>fi SONG. Kisses and welcome youll find here before yon, And the oftener you come here tlie more I'll adore you ! Light is my heart smce the day we were plighted ; Red is my cheek, that they told me was blighted ; The green of the trees looks far greener than ever. And the linnets are singing " True lovers don't sever I Thomas Davis. SONG. Gather ye rosebuds as ye may : Old Time is still a-flying, And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting. The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to settino-. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Times still succeed tlie former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And, while yc may, go marry ; For having lost but once your ])rim(% You may forever tarry. KoiJKKT IIkhjmck. A A* 227 THE FISHERMEN. Three fishers went sailing out into the west, Out into the west as the sun went down ; Each thought of the woman who loved him the best, And the children stood watching them out of the town. For men must work, and women must weep ; And there's little to earn, and many to keep. Though the harbor bar be moaning. Three wives sat up in the light-house tower. And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down ; And they looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, And the rack it came rolling up, ragged and brown. But men must work, and women must weep, Though storms be sudden, and waters deep. And the harbor bar be moaning. Three corpses lay out on the shining sands. In the morning gleam as the tide went down; And the women are watching, and wringing their hands. For those who will never come back to the town. For men must work, and women must weep ; And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep ; And good-bye to the bar and its moaning ! Charles Kingsley. 228 OLD TIMES. I. Old times, old times, the gaj old times, When I was yomig and free. And heard the merry Easter-chimes Under the sally tree ! My Sunday palm beside me placed, My cross upon my hand, A heart at rest within my breast. And sunshine on the land ! Old times ! Old times ! II. It is not that my fortunes flee. Nor that my cheek is pale, I mourn whene'er I think of thee, My darling native vale ! A wiser head I have, I know, Than when I loitered there ; But in my wisdom there is woe. And in my knowledge care. Old times ! Old times ! III. I've Hved to know my share of joy, To feel my share of pain, 229 OLD TIMES. To learn that friendship's self can cloy, To love — and love in vain ; To feel a pang and wear- a smile, To tire of other climes, To like my own unhappy isle, And sing the gay old times ! Old times ! Old times ! IV. And sure the land is nothino; changed : The birds are singing still ; The flow^ers are springing w^here we ranged ; There's sunshine on the hill. The sally, waving o'er my head, Still sweetly shades my frame ; But ah! those happy days are fled. And I am not the same. Old times ! Old times ! V. O come again, ye merry times. Sweet, sunny, fresh, and calm ! And let me hear those Easter-chimes, And wear my Sunday palm. If I could cry away mine eyes. My tears would flow in vain ; If I could waste my heart in sighs. They'd never come again ! Old times! Old times! Gerald Griffin. 230 -'■^^ -it -y^^s-^^J-^^ THE BROOK-SIDE. I wandp:red by the brook-side, I wandered by the mill ; I could not hear the brook flow, The noisy wheel was still ; There was no burr of grasshopper. No chirp of any bird ; But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. 2;n THE BROOK-SIBE. I sat beneath the elm-tree ; I watched the long, long shade, And, as it grew still longer, I did not feel afraid; For I listened for a footfall, I listened for a word ; But the beating of my own lieart Was all the sound I heard. He came not — no, he came not ; The night came on alone ; The little stars sat, one by one. Each on his golden throne; The evening wind passed by my check, The leaves above were stirred ; But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I lieard. Fast silent tears were flowing, When something stood behind ; A hand was on my shoulder, I knew its touch was kind : It drew me nearer — nearer. We did not speak one word ; For the beating of our own hearts Was all the sound we heard. UlCHARD MONCKTON MiLXES. 232 THE SONG OF THE DYING. We meet 'neatli tlie sounding rafter, And the walls around are bare ; As tliey shout to our peals of laughter, It seems that the dead are there. But stand to your glasses, steady ! We drink to our comrades' eyes : Quaff a cup to the dead already. And hurrah for the next that dies ! Not here are the goblets glowing, Not here is the vintao;e sweet ; 'Tis cold as our hearts are ^rowino; And dark as the doom we meet. But stand to your glasses, steady ! And soon shall our pulses rise : A cup to the dead already ; Hurrah for the next that dies ! Not a sigh for the lot that darkles, Not a tear for the friends that sink ; We'll fall midst the winecup's sparkles. As mute as the wine we drink. ;H 233 THE SONG OF THE DYING. So ! stand to your glasses, steady ! 'Tis this that the respite buys : One cup to the dead ah'eady ; Hurrah for the next that dies ! Time was when we frowned at others ; We thought we were wiser then. Ha ! ha ! let them think of their mothers Who hope to see them again. No ! stand to your glasses, steady ! The thoughtless are here the wise : A cup to the dead already ; Hurrah for the next that dies ! There's many a hand that's shaking, There's many a cheek that's sunk ; But soon, though our hearts are breaking, They'll burn with the wine we've drunk. So ! stand to your glasses, steady ! 'Tis here the revival lies : A cup to the dead already ; And hurrah for the next that dies ! There's a mist on the glass congealing: 'Tis the hurricane's fiery breath ; And thus does the warmth of feeling Turn ice in the grasp of Death. Ho ! stand to your glasses, steady ! For a moment the vapor flies : A cup to the dead already ; Hurrah for the next that dies ! 234 A PETITION TO TIME. Who dreads to the dust returning ? Who shrinks from the sable shore, Where the high and haughty yearning Of the soul shall sting no more ? Ho ! stand to your glasses, steady ! The world is a world of lies : A cup to the dead already ; Hurrah for the next that dies ! Cut oft' from the land that bore us, Betrayed by the land we find. Where the brightest have gone before us, And the dullest remain behind ! Stand ! stand to your glasses, steady ! 'Tis all we have left to prize : A cup to the dead already ; And hurrah for the next that dies ! Captain Dowling, East India Company's Service. A PETITION TO TIME. Touch us gently. Time ! Let us glide adown thy stream Gently — as we sometimes glide Through a quiet dream. Humble voyagers are we : Husband, wife, and children three ; (One is lost — an angel, fled To the azure overhead !) 235 THE FIRST SNOW-FA LI.. Toucli us gently, Time ! We've not proud nor soaring wings : Our ambition, our content, Lies in simple things. Humble voyagers are we, O'er life's dim, unsounded sea. Seeking only some calm clime : Touch us gently, gentle Time ! Brjan Waller Procter. (Barry Connvall.) THE FIRST SNOW-FALL. The snow had begun hi the gloaming, And busily, all the night. Had been heaping field and highway With a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm-tree Was ridged inch-deep with pearl. From sheds new-roofed with carrara Came chanticleer's muffled crow ; The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down ; And still wavered down the snow. I stood and watched from my window The noiseless work of the sky. And the sudden flurries of snow birds. Like brown leaves whirling by. 236 THE FIRST SNOW-FALL. I thouo;lit of a mound in sweet Auburn Where a little headstone stood : How the flakes were folding it gently, As did robins the Babes in the Wood. Up spoke our own little Mabel, Saying " Father, who makes it snow ? '^ And I told of the good All-father Who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snow-fall, And thought of the leaden sky That arched o'er our first great sorrow When that mound was heaped so high. I remembered the gradual patience That fell from that cloud like snow, Flake by flake, healing and hiding The scar of our buried woe. And again to the child I whispered " The snow that husheth all. Darling, the merciful Father Alone can bid it fall ! " Then with eyes that saw not I kissed her. And she, kissing back, could not know Tliat my kiss was given to her sister Folded close under deepening snow. James Russell Lowell. 237 LITTLE BELL. He prayetli well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. "The Ancient Mariner.' Piped the blackbird on the beechwood spray: " Pretty maid, slow wandering this way, What's your name?" quoth he; " What's your name ? O stop, and straight unfold, Pretty maid with showery curls of gold." "Little Bell," said she. Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks, Tossed aside her gleaming golden locks : " Bonny bird," quoth she, *' Sing me your best song before I go." '* Here's the very finest song I know. Little Bell," said he. And the blackbird piped ; you never heard Half so gay a song from any bird. Full of quips and wiles : Now so round and rich, now soft and slow ; All for love of that sweet face below. Dimpled o'er with smiles. 238 LITTLE BELL. And the while the bonny bird did pour His full heart out freely, o'er and o'er, 'Neath the morning skies. In the little childish heart below All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, And shine forth in happy overflow From the blue, bright eyes. Down the dell she tripped, and through the glade ; Peeped the squirrel from the hazel shade. And from out the tree Swung, and leaped, and frolicked, void of fear ; While bold blackbird piped that all might hear, "Little Bell!" piped he. Little Bell sat down amid the fern ; " Squirrel, squirrel, to your task return : Bring me nuts ! " quoth she. Up, away the frisky squirrel hies. Golden wood-lights glancing in his eyes, And ado^vn the tree. Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun. In the little lap dropped one by one ; Hark, how blackbird pipes to see the fun I " Happy Bell ! " pipes he. Little Bell looked up and down the glade: " Squiri'el, squirrel, if you're not afraid, Come and share with me ! " Down came squirrel, eager for his fare, Down came bonny blackbird I declare ; 239 LITTLE BELL. Little Bell gave each his honest share : All, the meny three ! And the while these frolic playmates twain Piped, and frisked from bough to bough again, 'Neath the morning skies. In the little childish heart below All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow. And shine out in happy overflow. From the blue, bright eyes. By her snow-white cot at close of day, Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms, to pray. Very calm and clear Rose the prayhig voice to where, unseen. In blue heaven, an angel shape serene Paused awhile to hear. " What good child is this," the angel said, " That, with happy heart, beside her bed Prays so lovingly ? " Low and soft, O very low and soft ! Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft: " Bell, dear Bell ! " crooned he. " Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair Murmured, " God doth bless with angels' care ; Child, thy bed shall be Folded safe from harm. — Love deep and kind Shall watch around, and leave good gifts behind. Little Bell, for thee." Thomas Westwood. 240 11/ I ' 'I'l Ml I i| Ml'l'll np^^i 1^ 'JUT^ T\\ SIR MARMADUKE. Sill Marmaduke was a hearty knight : Good man ! old man ! He's painted standing bolt upright, With his hose rolled over his knee ; His periwig's as white as chalk, And on his fist he holds a hawk ; And he looks like the head Of an ancient family. cc -i 1 1 J REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. His dinino;-room was lono- and wide : Good man ! old man ! His spaniels lay by the fireside ; And in other parts, d'ye see, Crossbows, tobacco-pipes, old hats, A saddle, his wife, and a litter of cats ; And he looked like the head Of an ancient family. He never turned the poor from the gate : Good man ! old man ! But was always ready to break the pate Of his country's enemy. What knio;ht could do a better thin or Than serve the poor,- and fight for his king ? And so may every head Of an ancient family. Gf.orge CoMVfAX, "the younger." I REMEMBER, I REMEMBKll. I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born, The Httle window, where the sun Came peepuig in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon. Nor brought too long a day; But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away ! 242 1 I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I remember, I remember Tlie roses, red and white, Tlie violets, and the Kly-cups, Those flowers made of lio;ht ! The hlacs, wliere the robin built, And wliere my brother set The laburnmn on his birthday ; The tree is living yet ! I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing. And tliouo:ht the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing ; My spirit flew in feathers then. That is so heavy now. And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow ! I remember, I remember The flr-trees, dark and high ; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky. It Avas a childish ignorance ; But now 'tis little joy To knoAv I'm farther off" from Heaven Than when I was a boy. Thomas Hood. 24 :^ SONG OF THE SILENT LAND Into tlie Silent Land ! All ! who shall lead us thither ? Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand ; Who leads us with a gentle hand Thither, O thither ! Into the Silent Land ? Lito the Silent Land ! To you, ye boundless regions Oi' all perfection, tender morning- visions Of beauteous souls, the Future's pledge and band ! Who in Life's battle firm doth staud Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms Into the Silent Land ! O Land! O Land! For all the broken-hearted. The mildest herald by our fate allotted Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand, To lead us with a gentle hand Into the land of the great departed. Into the Silent Land ! JoHANX Gaudenz VON Salis. (German.) Translation of Hexuy Wai>s\vokth Longfellow. 244 THE ONE GRAY HAIR. The wisest of tlie wise Listen to pretty lies, And love to liear tlieni told ; Donbt not that Solomon Listened to many a one : Some in his youth, and more when he grew old. I never sat among The choir of Wisdom's song, But pretty lies loved I As much as any king: When youth Avas on the wing. And (must it then be told?) when youth had quite gone by. Alas ! and I have not The pleasant hour forgot. When one pert lady said " O Landor ! I am quite Bewildered with affright : I see Tsit quiei now!) a wliite hair on your head!" Another, more benign. Drew out that hair of mine. And in her own dark hair CC* 21f) THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. Pretended she had found That one, and twirled it round : Fair as she was, she never was so fair. Walter Savagk Laxdou. THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. Shall I, wasting in despair, Die, because a woman's fiiir ? Or make pale my cheeks with care, 'Cause another's rosy are ? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in JMay, If she be not so to me, What care I how fair she be '.^ Shall my foolish heart be pined 'Cause I see a woman kind ? Or a well-disposed nature Joined with a lovely feature ? Be she meeker, kinder, than Turtle-dove or pelican, If she be not so to me. What care I how kind she be ? Shall a woman's virtues move Me to perish for her love ? (^r her well-deservinixs known Make me quite forget mine own ? 246 THE OLD CONTINENTALS. Be she with that goodness blest Which may merit name of best, If she be not such to me, What care I liow good she be? 'Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool and die ? Those that bear a noble mind Where they want of riches find Think what with them they would do That without them dare to woo ; And unless that mind I see. What care I how great she be *? Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair. If she love me, this believe : I will die ere she shall grieve. If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn, and let her go ; For if she be not for me. What care I for whom she be ? Gkorge Withkr. THE OLD CONTINENTALS In their rao;2:ed reo-imentals Stood the old Continentals, Yielding not. While the grenadiers were lungint 24 7 THE OLD CONTINENTALS. And like Imil fell the plmiging Cannon-sliot ; When the files Of the Isles, From the smoky night-encampment, bore the banner of the ram- pant Unicorn ; And grummer, grummer, grummer, rolled the roll of the drummer, Throuo;h the morn ! Then with eyes to the front all, And with guns horizontal, Stood our sires ; While the balls whistled deadly. And in streams flashing redly. Blazed the fires ; As the roar On the shore, SAve])t the strong battle-breakers o'er the green-sodded jicrcs Of the 2)1 ain ; And louder, louder, louder, cracked the black gunpowder. Cracking amain ! Now like smiths at their forges Worked the red St. George's Cannoneers ; And the "villainous saltpetre'' Rang a fierce, discordant metre Round our eai's. As the swift Storm-drift, 248 THE OLD CONTINENTALS. Witli hot sweeping anger, came the horse-guards' clangor On our flanks ; Then higher, higlier, higher, burned the old-fashioned fire Through the ranks ! Then the bareheaded Colonel Galloped through the white infernal Powder-cloud ; And his broadsword was swinging, 249 A CHARADE." And his brazen throat was rino-incr, Trumpet-loud. Then tlie blue Bullets flew, And the trooper-jackets reddened at the touch of the leaden Rifle-breath ; And rounder, rounder, rounder, roared the iron six-pounder. Hurling death ! Guy Humphrey McMa^jteu. A CHARADE. Come from my First — ay, come I The battle-dawn is nigh ; And the screaming trump and the thundering drum Are calling tliee to die. 250 A CHARADE. Fight as thy fathers fought, * Fall as thy fathers fell! Thy task is taught, thy shroud is wrought : So — forward ! and farewell ! Toll ye my Second — toll ! Fling high the flambeau's light, And sing the hymn for a parted soul. Beneath the silent nio-lit. The wreath upon his head. The cross upon his breast, Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed : So — take him to his rest ! Call ye my Whole — ay, call The lord of lute and lay, And let him greet the sable pall With a noble song to-day! Go, call him by his name: No fitter hand may crave To light the flame of a soldier's fame On the turf of a soldier's grave. WlNTHKOP MaCKWORTH PrAED. 251 THE FADED VIOLET. What thought is folded in thy leaves ! What tender thought, what speechless pain ! I hold thy faded lips to mine, Thou darling of the April rain. I hold thy faded lips to mine, Though scent and azure tint are fled ; O ! dry, mute lips, ye are the type Of something in me cold and dead : Of something wilted like thy leaves. Of fragrance flown, of beauty dim ; Yet, for the love of those white hands That found thee by a river's brim, That found thee when thy sunny moutii Was purpled, as with drinking wine : For love of her who love forgot, I hold thy faded lips to mine. That thou shouldst live when I am dead, When hate is dead for me, and wrong. For this I use my subtlest art. For this I fold thee in my song. Thomas Bajlky Aldrich. 252 O! SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM. O ! SNATCHED awaj in beauty's bloom, On thee shall press no ponderous tomb ; But on thy turf shall roses rear Their leaves, the earliest of the year, And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom. And oft by yon blue gushing stream Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause, and lightly tread: Fond wretch 1 as if her step disturbed the dead. Away ! we know that tears are vain, That Death nor heeds nor hears distress ■• Will this unteach us to complain. Or make one mourner weep the less ? And thou, who tell'st me to forget. Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. LoKD Byron. 25a TO PRIMROSES, FILLED WITH MORNING DEW. Why do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears Speak grief in you, Who were but born Just as the modest morn Teemed her refresliing dew? Alas ! ye have not known that shower That mars a flower. Nor felt the unkind Breath of a blasting wind ; Nor are ye worn with years, Or warped, as we. Who think it strange to see Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, Speaking by tears before ye have a tongue. Speak, whimpering younglings ! and make known The reason why Ye droop and weep. Is it for want of sleep, Or childish lullaby? Or that ye have not seen as yet The violet? Or brought a kiss From that sweetheart to this? 254 TO BLOSSOMS. No, no ; this sorrow, shown By your tears shed. Would have this lecture read: " That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth." Robert Hekrick. TO BLOSSOMS. Fair pledges of a fruitful tree. Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past But you may stay yet here awhile, To blush and gently smile. And go at last. What! were ye born to be An hour or half's deh'o-ht, And so to bid good-night? 'Tis pity Nature brought ye forth, Merely to show your worth. And lose you quite. But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne'er so brave ; And, after they have shown their pride Like you awhile, they glide Into the grave. RoiJKUT IIeuuick. 265 TO DAFFODILS. Fair clafFodils, we weej) to seo. You haste away so soon ; As yet the early-rising sun Has not attained liis noon : Stay, stay Until the hastening day Has run But to the even-song ; And, having prayed together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay as you : We have as short a Spring, As quick a growth to meet decay, As you, or anything. We die, As your hours do ; and dry AAvay Like to the Summer's rain, Or as the pearls of morning dew : Ne'er to be found ao^ain. lioBKJlT HkUKICK. 2.^6 HOW'S MY BOY? " Ho, sailor of tlie sea ! How's my boy — my boy?" " Wliat's your boy's name, good wife And in wliat good ship sailed he ? " " My boy John, He that went to sea ; What care I for the ship, sailor ? My boy's my boy to me. HOW'S MY BOY? '' You come back from sea, And not know my John ? I micrlit as well have asked some landsman. Yonder down in the town ; Tliere's not an ass m all the parish But he knows my John. ''How's my boy — my boy? And unless you let me know, ril swear you are no sailor : Blue jacket or no. Brass buttons or no, sailor, Anchor and crown or no. Sure his ship was the ' Jolly Briton.' " " Speak low, woman, speak low ! " *' And why should I speak low, sailor. About my own boy John? If I was loud as I am ])rou(l I'd sing him over the town. Why should I speak low, sailor?" " That good ship went down." " How's my boy — my boy ? What care I for the ship, sailor ; I was never aboard her. Be she afloat or be she aground, Sinkino^ or swimmino-, I'll be bound Her owners can afford her ! I say, how's my John ? " " Every man on board went down, Every man aboard her." 258 TO THE HUMBLEBEE. " How's my boy — my boy ? What care I for the men, sailor ? I'm not then" mother. How's my boy — my boy? Tell me of him and no other. How's my boy — my boy?" Sydney Dohkll. TO THE HUMBLEBEE. Burly, dozing, bumblebee ! Where thou art is clime for me ; Let them sail for Porto Rique, Far-off heats through seas to seek, I will follow thee alone. Thou animated torrid zone ! Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer. Let me chase thy waving lines ; Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, Singing over shrubs and vines. Flower-bells, Honeyed cells : These the tents Which he frequents. Insect lover of the sun, Joy of thy dominion ! Sailor of the atmosphere, Swimmer through the waves of air, kp:* 250 LX) THE HUMBLEBEK. VoyagLT of liglit and noon, Epicnrean of June ! Wait, I prithee, til! I come AVitliin ear-shot of thy hum ; All without is martyrdom. When the south wind, in May days, With a net of shinino; liaze Silvers the horizon wall. And, with softness touching all. Tints the human countenance Witli a color of romance, And, infusing suhtile heats, Turns the sod to violets : Thou, in sunny solitudes. Rover of the underwoods, The green silence dost displace With thy mellow, breezy bass. Hot Midsummer's petted crone I Sweet to me thy drowsy tone. Telling of countless sunny hours. Long days, and solid banks of flower Of crulfs of sweetness without bound, Tn Indian wildernesses found ; Of Syrian ])eace, immortal leisure, Firmest cheer, and birdlike pleasure. Aught unsavory or unclean Hath my insect never seen : 200 INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP But violets, and bilberry-bells, Ma})le sap, and daffodels. Clover, catclifly, adder's-tongue. And brier-roses, dwelt amono- : All beside was unknown waste. All was picture as he passed. Wiser far than human seer, Yellow-breeched philosopher ! Seeing only what is fair, ' Sipping only what is sweet. Thou dost mock at fate and care. Leave the chaff and take the wheat. When the iierce northwestern bhist Cools sea and land so far and fast. Thou already slumberest deep ; Woe and want thou canst outsleej) ; Want and woe, which torture us. Thy sleep makes ridiculous. Ralph Waldo F^mkijson. INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAftH'. I. You know we French stormed llatisbon. A mile or so away. On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our stormiuii-dav : ■2C> 1 incidp:nt of the French camp. Witli neck out-tliriist, jou fancv how. Legs wide, arms locked behind : As if to balance the prone brow, Oppressive with its mind. II. Just as perhaps he mased " My plans, That soar, to earth may fall, Let once my army-leader, Lannes, Waver at yonder wall," Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew A rider, bound on bound Full-galloping; nor bridle drew Until he reached the mound. III. Then off there flung in smiling joy, And held himself erect By just his horse's mane, a boy : You hardly could suspect, (So tight he kept his lips compressed. Scarce any blood came through,) You looked twice, ere you saw his breast Was all but shot in two. IV. ''Well," cried he, " Emperor, by God's grace We've got you Ratisbon ! The Marshal's in the market-place, And you'll be there anon, 262 A SPINNING-WHEEL SONG. To see your fiag-bird flap his vans Where I, to heart's desire, Perched him I " Tlie chief's eye flashed : liis phiiis Soared up again like fire. V. The chief's eye flashed; but })resently Softened itself, as sheathes A film the mother-eagle's eye When her bruised eaglet breathes : "You're wounded!" "Nay," his soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said : " I'm killed, sire ! " And, his chief beside. Smiling, the boy fell dead. Ro li E H 1 B U O \VN 1 M i A SPINNING- WHEEL SONG. Melt.ow the moonlight to shine is becrinnino; ; Close by the window young Eileen is spinning ; Bent o'er the fire, her blind grandmother, sitting, Is croning, and moaning, and drowsily knitting. " Eileen, achora, I hear some one tapping." " 'Tis the ivy, dear mother, against the glass flapping." " Eileen, I surely hear somebody sighing." '•'■ 'Tis the sound, mother dear, of the summer wind dying." Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring. Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring ; 263 A SPINNING-WHEEL SONG. Spricrjitly, and lightly, and airily ringing, Thrills the sweet voice of the yonng maiden singing. '* What's that noise that I hear at the window, I wonder ? " 'Tis the little birds chirping the holly-bnsh nnder." '' What makes you be shoving and moving your stool on. And singing all wrong that old song of ' The Coolun ? ' " There's a form at the casement — the form of her true love And he whispers, with face bent, •264 waitin^r for y lov MY LOVE. Get up on the stool, through the lattice step lightly; We'll rove in the grove while the moon's shinmg brightly." Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring. Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring ; Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing. Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. The maid shakes her head, on her lip lays her fingers, Steals up from her seat, longs to go — and yet lingers ; A frightened glance turns to her drowsy grandmother. Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel with the other. Lazily, easily, swings now the wheel round ; Slowly and lowly is heard now the reel's sound. Noiseless and light to the lattice above her The maid steps — then leaps to the arms of her lover. Slower — and slower — and slower the wheel swings ; Lower — and lower — and lower the reel rings. Ere the reel and the wheel stop their ringing and moving, Through the grove the young lovers by moonlight are roving. John Francis Wallkr. MY LOVE. Not as all other women are Is she that to my soul is dear : Her glorious fancies come from far, Beneath the silver evening-star ; And yet her heart is ever near. VF 2G5 MY LOVE. IT. Great feelings hath she of her own, Wliich lesser souls may never know ; God giveth them to her alone, And sweet they are as any tone Wlierewith the wind may clioose to blow. III. Yet in herself she dwelleth not, Although no home were half so fair : No simplest duty is forgot ; Life hath no dim and lowly spot That doth not in her sunshine share. IV. She doeth little kindnesses, Wliich most leave undone, or despise ; For naught that sets one heart at ease. And giveth haj^piness or peace. Is low-esteemed in her eyes. V. She hath no scorn of common things ; And, though she seem of other birth, Round us her heart entwines and clings, And patiently she folds her wings To tread the humble paths of earth. VI. Blessing she is : God made her so ; And deeds of week-day holiness 266 MY LOVE. Fall from her noiseless as the snow ; Nor hath she ever chanced to know That auo;ht were easier than to bless. VII. She is most fair, and thereunto Her life doth rightly harmonize ; FeelincT or thouo-ht that was not true Ne'er made less beautiful the blue Unclouded heaven of her eyes. VIII. She is a woman — one in whom The spring-time of her cliildish years Hath never lost its fresh perfame, Though knowino; well that life hath room For many blights and many tears. IX. I love her with a love as still As a broad river's peaceful might, Which, by high tower and lowly mill. Goes wandering at its own will. And yet doth ever How aright. X. And, on its full, deep breast serene, Like quiet isles my duties lie ; It flows around them and between. And makes them fresh and fair and green : Sweet homes wherein to live and die. James Russkll Lowell. IT* 267 SONG. Drink ye to her that each loves best, And if you nurse a flame That's told but to her mutual breast, We will not ask her name. Enough, while Memory, tranced and glad, Paints silently the fair, That each should dream of joys he's had. Or yet may hope to share. i MADAME LA MARQUISE. Yet far, far hence be jest or boast From hallowed thoughts so dear ; But drink to her that each lov^es most, As slie would love to hear. Thomas Cami^bki.l. MADAME LA MARQUISE The folds of her wine-dark violet dress Glow over the sofa, fall on fall. As she sits in the air of her loveliness With a smile for each and for all. Half of her exquisite face in the shade Which o'er it the screen in her soft hand flings Tlu'ouoh the o-loom irlows her o o o hair in its odorous braid ; In the firelight are sparkling 269 .MADAME LA MARQUISE. As she leans, the slow smile, half shut up in her eyes, Beams the sleepy, long, silk-soft lashes beneath ; Through her crimson lips, stirred by her faint replies, Breaks one gleam of her pearl-white teeth. As she leans — where your eye, by her beauty subdued, Droops — from under warm fringes of broidery white Tlie slightest of feet, silken-slippered, protrude For one moment ; then slip out of sight. As I bend o'er her bosom, to tell her the news. The faint scent of her hair, the approach of her cheek, The vague warmth of her breath, all my senses suffuse With herself; and I tremble to speak. So she sits in the curtained, luxurious light Of that room, with its porcelain, and pictures, and flowers. When the dark day's half done, and the snow flutters white Past the windows, in feathery showers. All without is so cold, 'neath the low leaden sky ! Down the bald, empty street, like a ghost, the gendarme Stalks surly ; a distant carriage hums by. All within is so bright and so warm ! Here we talk of the schemes and the scandals of court : How the courtesan pushes, the charlatan thrives. We put bonis on tlie heads of our friends, just for s])ort ; Put intrioues in the heads of their wives. Fler warm hand, at parting, so strangely thrilled mine, That at dinner I scarcely renjiark what they say, •270 MADAME LA MARQUISE. Drop the ice in my soup, spill the salt in my wine, Then go yawn at my favorite play. But she drives after noon : then's the time to behold her, With her fair face half hid, like a ripe peeping rose, 'Neath that veil — o'er the velvets and furs which infold her Leaning back with a queenly repose. As she glides up the sunlight ! You'd say she was made To JoU back in a carriage, all day, with a smile ; And at dusk, on a sofa, to lean in the shade Of soft lamps, and be wooed for a while. Could we find out her heart through that velvet and lace ! Can it beat without ruffling her sumptuous dress ? She will show us her shoulder, her bosom, her face ; But what the heart's like we must guess. With live women and men to be found in the world, (Live with sorrow and sin, live with pain and witli passion,) Who could live with a doll — though its locks should be curled. And its petticoats trimmed in the fashion ? 'Tis so fair! — would my bite, if I bit it, draw blood? Will it cry if I hurt it ? or scold if I kiss ? Is it made, with its beauty, of wax or of wood ? — Is it worth while to guess at all this ? Robert Bclwer Lytton. 271 BEWARE ! I KNOW a maiden fair to see : Take care ! Slie can botli false and friendly be : Beware ! Beware ! Trust her not ; She is foohng thee ! She has two eyes, so soft and brown : Take care ! 6lie gives a side-glance and looks down : Beware ! Beware ! Trust her not ; She is fool in o; thee ! And she has hair of a golden hue : Take care ! And what she says it is not true : Beware ! Beware ! Trust her not ; She is fooling thee ! She has a bosom as white as snow : Take care ! She knows how much it is best to show : Beware ! Beware ! Trust her not ; She is fool in o; thee ! •272 SONG. She gives tliee a garland woven fair : Take care ! It is a fool's-cap for thee to wear : Beware ! Beware ! Trust her not ; She is fooling thee ! Anonymous. (German.) Translation of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. SONG. Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? Prithee, why so pale ? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail ? Prithee, why so pale ? Why so dull and mute, young sinner ? Prithee, why so mute ? Will, when speaking well can't win her. Saying nothing do't ? Prithee, why so mute ? Quit, quit, for shame ! this will not move. This cannot take her ; If of herself she will not love. Nothing can make her : The Devil take her ! Sir John Suckling. GG 273 LEFT BEHIND. It was the autumn of the year ; The strawberrj-leaves were red and sere ; October's airs were fresh and chill ; When, pausing on the windy hill, The hill that overlooks the sea, You talked confidingly to me : Me, whom your keen, artistic sight Has not yet learned to read aright, Since I have veiled my heart from you, And loved you better than you knew. You told me of your toilsome past : The tardy honors won at last. The trials borne, the conquests gained, The longed-for boon of Fame attained ; I knew that every victory But lifted you away from me. That every step of high emprise But left me lowlier in your eyes ; I watched the distance as it grew. And loved you better than you knew. You did not see the bitter trace Of anguish sweep across my face ; You did not hear my proud heart beat, Heavy and slow, beneath your feet ; 274 LEFT BEHIND You thought of triumphs still unwoii, Of glorious deeds as yet undone ; And I, the while you talked to me, I watched the gulls float lonesomely, Till lost amid the hungry blue ; And loved you better than you knew. You walk the sunny side of fate ; The wise world smiles, and calls you great ; The golden fruitage of success Drops at your feet in plenteousness ; And you have blessings manifold : Renown and power, and friends and gold , They build a wall between us twain. Which may not be thrown down again. Alas ! for I, the long years through. Have loved you better than you knew. Your life's proud aim, your art's high truth. Have kept the promise of your youth ; And while you won the crown, which now Breaks into bloom upon your brow. My soul cried strongly out to you Across the ocean's yearning blue, While, unremembered and afar, I watched you, as I watch a star, Through darkness struggling into view ; And loved you better than you knew. I used to dream, in all these years Of patient faith, and silent tears, 275 TAKE, O TAKE, THOSE LIPS AWAY. That Love's strong hand would put aside The barriers of place and pride, Would reach the pathless darkness through, And draw me softly up to you ; But that is past. If you should stray Beside my grave, some future day. Perchance the violets o'er my dust Will half betray their buried trust. And say, their blue eyes full of dew, " She loved you better than you knew." Florence Peucy.- TAKE, O TAKE, THOSE LIPS AWAY, Take, O take, those lips away. That so sweetly were forsworn ! And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn i But my kisses bring again : Seals of love, though sealed in vain. Hide, O hide, those hills of snow. Which thy frozen bosom bears. On whose tops the pinks that grow Are yet of those that April wears ! But first set my poor heart free, Bound in those icy chains by thee. Shakspeare, and John Fletcher. 27'J OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW Of a' the airts the wmd can blaw I dearly like the west ; For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e best. There wildwoods grow, and rivers row, And monie a hill between ; But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean. I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair ; I hear her in the tunefu' birds, I hear her charm the air ; There's not a bonnie flower that springs By fountain, sliaw, or green. There's not a bonnie bird that sings. But minds me o' my Jean. Robert Burns. 277 OLD. By tlie wayside, on a mossy stone, Sat a lioary pilgrim sadly musing ; Oft I marked liim sitting there alone, All the landscape like a page perusing : Poor, unknown. By the wayside, on a mossy stone ! Buckled knee and shoe, and broad-rimmed hat ; Coat as ancient as the form 'twas folding ; Sih^er buttons, queue, and crimped cravat ; Oaken staff, his feeble hand upholding : There he sat ! Buckled knee and shoe, and broad-rinnned liat. Seemed it pitiful he should sit there, No one sympathizing, no one heeding, None to love him for his thin, gray hair, And the fiuTOws all so mutely pleading Ao;e and care : Seemed it pitiful he should sit there. It was Summer, and we went to school, Dapper country lads, and little maidens ; Taught the motto of the " dunce's stool," 278 OLD. Its grave import still my fancy ladens : " Here's a fool ! " It was Summer, and we went to school. When the stranger seemed to mark our play, Some of us were joyous, some sad-hearted. I remember well, too well, that day ! Oftentimes the tears unbidden started. Would not stay, When the stranger seemed to mark our i)lay. 279 OLD. One sweet spirit broke the silent spell ; All ! to me her name was always Heaven ! She besought him all his grief to tell : (I was then thirteen, and she eleven,) Isabel ! One sweet spirit broke the silent spell. Angel, said he sadly, I am old; Earthly hope no longer hath a morrow ; Yet, why I sit here thou slialt be told. Then his eye betrayed a pearl of sorrow ; Down it rolled ! Angel, said he sadly, I am old. I have tottered here to look once more On the pleasant scene where I delighted In the careless, happy days of yore. Ere the garden of my heart was blighted To the core : I have tottered here to look once more. All the picture now to me how dear ! E'en this gray old rock, where I am seated. Is a jewel worth my journey here ; Ah, that such a scene must be completed With a tear ! All the picture now to me how dear ! Old stone school-house ! — it is still the same : There's the very step I so oft mounted ; There's the window creaking in its frame, 280 OLD. And the notches that I cut and counted For the game : Old stone school-house ! — it is still the same. In the cottage, yonder, I was born ; Long my happy home, that humble dwelling ; There the fields of clover, wheat, and corn; There the spring, with limj^id nectar swelling : Ah, forlorn I In the cottage, yonder, I was born. Those two gateway sycamores you see Then were planted just so far asunder That long well-pole from the path to free, And the wagon to pass safely under : Ninety- three ! Those two gateway sycamores you see. There's the orchard where we used to climb When my mates and I were boys together, Thinkino; nothing of the flio^ht of time, Fearing naught but work and rainy weather : Past its prime ! There's the orchard where we used to climb. There the rude, three-cornered chestnut rails. Round the pasture where the flocks were grazing, Where, so sly, I used to watch for quails In the crops of buckwheat we were raising : Traps and trails ! There the rude, thi'ee-cornered chestnut rails. 281 OLD. There's the mill that ground our yellow grain : Pond, and river, still serenely flowing ; Cot, there nestling in the shaded lane. Where the lily of my heart was blowing : Mary Jane ! There's the mill that ground our yellow grain. There's the gate on which I used to swing, Brook, and bridge, and barn, and old red stable ; But alas ! no more the morn shall bring OLD. That dear group around mj father's table : Taken wino; ! There's the gate on which I used to swing. I am fleeino; — all I loved have fled. Yon green meadow was our place for playing That old tree can tell of sweet things said When around it Jane and I were straying ; She is dead ! I am fleeing — all I loved have fled. Yon white spire, a pencil on the sky, Tracing silently life's changeful story, So familiar to my dim old eye. Points me to seven that are now in glory There on hio-h : CD Yon white spire, a pencil on the sky ! Oft the aisle of that old church we trod, Guided thither by an angel mother ; Now she slee23s beneath its sacred sod ; Sire and sisters, and my little brother. Gone to God ! Oft the aisle of that old church we trod. There I heard of Wisdom's pleasant ways : Bless the holy lesson ! — but ah, never Shall I hear again those songs of praise. Those sweet voices — silent now forever I Peaceful days ! There I heard of Wisdom's pleasant ways. 283 OLD. There my Mary blest me with her hand Wlieii our souls drank in the nuptial blessing. Ere she hastened to the spirit-land, Yonder turf her gentle bosom pressing : Broken band ! Tliere my Mary blest me with her hand. I have come to see that grave once more, And the sacred place where we delighted, Where we worshipped, in the days of yore, Ere the garden of my heart was blighted To the core ; I have come to see that grave once more. Angel, said he sadly, I am old ; Earthly hope no longer hath a morrow ; Now, why I sit here thou hast been tohl. In his eye another pearl of sorrow ; Down it rolled ! Angel, said he sadly, I am old. By the wayside, on a mossy stone, Sat the hoary pilgrim, sadly musing ; Still I marked him sittino; there alone, All the landscape, like a page, peiTising; Poor, unknown ! By the wayside, on a mossy stone. Rammi Hoy'j 'i8l NO MORE. No more ! a harp-string's deep and breaking tone, A last low summer breeze, a far-oif swell, A dying echo of rich music gone. Breathe through those words, those murnnirs of farcAvel No More! To dwell in peace, with home-affections bound. To know the sweetness of a mother's voice, To feel the spirit of her love around, And in the blessing of her eye rejoice, No moi'e ! A dirge-like sound ! — to greet the early friend Unto the hearth, his place of many days ; In the glad song with kindred lips to blend. Or join the household laughter by the blaze, No more ! Tlu'ough woods that shadowed our first years to rove, With all our native music in the air ; To watch the sunset with the eyes we love. And turn and read our own heart's answer there. No more ! 11 " 285 . NO MORE. Words of despair ! yet Eartli's, all Earth's, the woe Their passion breathes, the desolately deep ! That sound m Heaven — O ! image then the flow Of gladness in its tones — to part, to weep, No more ! To watch, hi dying hope, affection's wane. To see the beautiful from life depart, To wear impatiently a secret chain, To waste the untokl riches of the heart, No more ! Through long, long years to seek, to strive, to yearn For human love, and never quench that thirst ; To pour the soul out, winning no return. O'er fragile idols, by delusion nursed. No more ! On things that fail us, reed by reed, to lean ; To mourn the changed, the far away, the dead ; To send our troubled spirits through the unseen. Intensely questioning for treasures fled. No more ! Words of triumphant music ! Bear we on The weight of life, the chain, the ungenial air : Their deathless meaning, Avhen our tasks are done. To learn in joy — to struggle, to despair. No more ! FkLICIA DOIIOTHEA HeMANS. 2M THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions, In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days: All, all are gone, the old familiar faces ! I have been laughing, I have been carousing, Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies : All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. r loved a love once, fairest among women : Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her: All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man ; Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly. Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. Ghostlike I paced round the haunts of my childhood Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces. Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother. Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelhng ? So might we talk of the old familiar faces : 287 A SNOW-STORM. How some they have died, and some they have left me. And some are taken from me; all are departed: -All, all are gone — the old familiar faces! ClIAULKS LaMU. A SNOW-STORM ift a feaiful night in the ii"' winter time. As cold as it ever can be ; The roar of the blast is heard, like the chime 288 A SNOW-STORM. Of the waves on an angry sea ; The moon is full, but her silver light The storm dashes out with its wings to-night ; And over the sky from south to north Not a star is seen, as the wind comes forth In the strength of a mighty glee. II. All day had the snow come down — all day, As it never came down before ; And over the hills, at sunset, lay Some two or three feet, or more ; The fence was lost, and the wall of stone. The windows blocked, and the well-curbs gone ; The haystack had grown to a mountain lift. And the woodpile looked like a monster drift. As it lay by the farmer's door. The night sets m on a world of snow, While the air grows sharp and chill, And the warning roar of a fearful blow Is heard on the distant hill ; And the Norther! See — on the mountain peak, In his breath how the old trees writhe and shriek ! He shouts on the plain. Ho, ho. Ho, ho ! He drives from his nostrils the blinding snow, And growls with a savage will. III. Such a night as this to be found abroad, In the drifts and the freezing air, 289 A SNOW-STORM. Sits a sliiverino; doo; in the field bv the road. With tl\e snow in liis shaggy hair ! He shuts his eyes to the wind, and growls ; He lifts his head, and moans and howls ; Then crouching low from the cutting sleet, His nose is pressed on his quivering feet : Pray, what does the dog do there ? A farmer came from the village plain. But he lost the travelled way ; And for hours he trod, with might and main. A path for his horse and sleigh ; But colder still the cold wind blew, And deeper still the deep drifts grew, And his mare, a beautiful Morgan brown, At last in her struo;o;les floundered down. Where a log in a hollow lay. In vain, with a neio^h and a frenzied snort. She plunged in the drifting snow. While her master urged, till his breath grew short. With a word and a gentle blow ; But the snow w^as deep, and the tugs were tight. His hands were numb, and had lost their might ; So he wallowed back to his half-filled sleigh, And strove to shelter himself till day, With his coat and the buffalo. IV. He has given the last faint jerk of the rein To rouse up his dying steed, 290 A SNOW-STORM. And the poor dog howls to the blast in vain. For help ■ in his master's need ; For a while he strives, with a wistful crw To catch a glance from his drowsv eve, And wags his tail if the rude winds flap The skirt of the buifalo over liis laj), And whines when lie takes no heed. A SNOW-STORM. The wind goes clown, and the storm is o'er: 'Tis the hour of midnight past ; The old trees writhe and bend no more In the whirl of the rushing blast ; The silent moon, with her peaceful light, Looks down on the hills, with snow all white ; And the giant shadow of Camel's Hump, The blasted pine and the ghostly stump. Afar on the plain are cast. But cold and dead, by the hidden log, Are they who came ft'om the town : The man in his sleigh, and his faitliful dog, And his beautiful Morgan brown — In the wide snow-desert, far and grand, With his cap on his head, and the reins in his hand. The dog with his nose on his master's feet, And the mare half seen through the crusted sleet. Where she lay when she floundered down. Charles Gam age Eastman. 2i*2 THE OLD MAID. Why sits she thus in sohtude ? Her heart Seems melting in her eyes' dehcious blue ; And as it heaves, her ripe lips lie apart, As if to let its heavy throbbings througli. In her dark eye a depth of softness swells. Deeper than that her careless girlhood wore ; And her cheek crimsons with the hue that tells The rich fair fruit is ripened to the core. It is her thirtieth birthday ! With a sigh Her soul hath turned from youth's luxuriant bowers, And her heart taken up the last sweet tie That measured out its links of golden hours. She feels her inmost soul within her stir. With thoughts too wild and passionate to si)L'ak ; Yet her full heart, its own interpreter. Translates itself in silence on her cheek. Joy's opening buds, aflPection's glowing flowers. Once lightly sprang within her beaming track ; O, life was beautiful in those lost hours ! And yet sh'3 does not wish to wander back. KK 293 THE OLD MAID. No ! slie but loves in loneliness to think On pleasures past, tliough never more to be ; Flope links her to the future — but the link That binds her to the past is Memory. From her lone path she never turns aside, Though passionate worshippers before her fall ; Like some pure planet in her lonely pride, She seems to soar and beam above them all. Not that her heart is cold — emotions new, And fresh as flowers, are with her heartstrings kin't, And sweetly mournful pleasures wander through Her virgin soul, and softly ruflie it. For she hath lived with heart and soul alive To all that makes life beautiful and fair ; Sweet thoughts, like honey-bees, have made their hive Of her soft bosom-cell, and cluster there. Yet life is not to her what it hath been : Her soul hath learned to look beyond its gloss ; And now she hovers, like a star, between Her deeds of love, her Saviour on the cross. Beneath the cares of earth she does not bow. Though she hath ofttimes drained its bitter cu]), But ever wanders on with heavenward brow, And eyes wdiose lovely lids are lifted up. She feels that in that lovelier, happier sphere Her bosom yet will, birdlike, find its mate, And all the joys it found so blissful here Within that spirit-retilm perpetuate. 21)4 EPITAPH ON EliOTlON. Yet sometimes o'er her trembling heartstrings thrill Soft sighs — for raptures it hath ne'er enjoyed; And then slie dreams of love, and strives to fill With wild and passionate thoughts the craving void. And thus she wanders on — half sad, half blest : Without a mate for the pure lonely heart That, yearning, throbs within her virgin breast, Never to find its lovely counterpart. Aaikj-ia Ball Welby, EPITAPH ON EROTTON. Underneath this greedy stone Lies little sweet Erotion, Whom the Fates, with hearts as cold, Nipped away at six years old. Thou, whoever thou may'st be. That hast this small field after me. Let the yearly rites be paid To her little slender shade : So shall no disease or jar Hurt thy house, or chill thy lar ; But this tomb here be alone. The only melancholy stone. Makitai.. (Latin.) Tninslatiou of Lkigh Hpnt. 295 BABY MAT. Cheeks as soft as July peaches ; Lips wliose dewy scarlet teaches Poppies paleness ; round large eyes, Ever great with new surprise ; Minutes filled with shadeless gladness, Minutes just as brimmed with sadness ; Happy smiles and wailing cries, Crows and laughs and tearful eyes ; Lights and shadows, swifter born Than on windswept autumn corn ; Ever some new tiny notion, Making every limb all motion : Catchings up of legs and arms, Throwings back, and small alarms, Clutching fingers, straightening jerks. Twining feet, whose each toe works, Kickings up and straining risings, Mother's ever new surprisings ; Hands all wants, and looks all wonder At all things the heavens under ; Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings That have more of love than lovings ; Mischiefs done with such a winning Archness that we prize such sinning ; Breakings dire of plates and glasses, Graspings small at all that passes, 296 THE RAVEN. Pullings ofF of all that's able To be caught from tray or table ; Silences — small meditations, Deep as thoughts of cares for nations, Breaking into wisest speeches In a tongue that nothing teaches. All the thoughts of whose possessing Must be wooed to light by guessing ; Slumbers — such sweet angel-seemings That we'd ever have such dreamings, Till from sleep we see thee breaking, And we'd always have thee waking ; Wealth for which we know no measure, Pleasure high above all pleasure ; Gladness brimming over gladness, Joy in care, delight in sadness ; Loveliness beyond completeness. Sweetness distancing all sweetness. Beauty all that beauty may be : That's May Bennett — that's my baby. William Cox Bennett. THE RAVEN. Once, upon a midnight dreary, While I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious Volume of forgotten lore, 297 THE KAVEN. While I nodded, nearly napping, Suddenly there came a tapping. As of some one gently rapping, Rapping at my chamber door: " 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, " Tapping at my chamber door ; Only this, and nothing more." Ah, distinctly I remember! It was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember Wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow ; Vainly I had tried to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow, Sorrow for the lost Lenore, For the rare and radiant maiden Whom the angels name Lenore ; Nameless here for evermore. And the silken, sad, uncertain Rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic Terrors never felt before ; So that now, to still the beating Of my heart, I stood repeating " 'Tis some visitor entreating Entrance at my chamber door, Some late visitor entreating Entrance at my chamber door: This it is, and nothing more." 298 THE RAVEN. Presently my soul grew stronger : Hesitating then no longer, " Sir," said I, '^ or Madam, truly Your forgiveness I implore ; But tlie fact is I was napping, And so gently you came rapping. And so faintly you came tapping. Tapping at my chamber door. That I scarce was sure I heard you ; " Here I opened wide the door: Darkness there, and nothing m(jre ! Deep into that darkness peering. Long I stood there wondering, fearing. Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal Ever dared to dream before ; But the silence was unbroken. And the darkness gave no token. And the only word there spoken Was the whispered word " Lenore ! * This I whispered, and an echo Murmured back the word " Lenore ! Merely this, and nothing more. Then into the chamber turning, All my soul within me burning, Soon I heard again a tap|)ing. Somewhat louder than before : " Surely," said I, " surely that is Something at my window lattice ,; Let me see, then, what thereat is, THE RAVEN. And this mystery explore; Let my heart be still a moment, And this mystery explore : 'Tis the wind, and nothing more ! " Open here I flnng the shutter, When, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven Of the saintly days of yore ; Not the least obeisance made he, Not an instant stopped or stayed he ; But, with mien of lord or lady, Perched above my chamber door, Perched upon a bust of Pallas Just above my chamber door : Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling My sad fancy into smiling. By the grave and stern decorum Of the countenance it wore, '"• Though thy crest be shorn and shaven. Thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven. Wandering from the Nightly shore: Tell me what thy lordly name is On the Nicrht's Plutonian shore ! " Quoth the raven " Nevermore." Much I marvelled this uno-ainly Fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 300 THE RAVEN. Though its answer httle meaning, Little relevancy bore ; For we cannot help agreeing That no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing Bird above his chamber door, Bird or beast upon the sculptured Bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore.'* But the raven, sitting lonely On the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in That one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered. Not a feather then he fluttered ; Till I scarcely more than muttered, " Other friends have flown before ; On the morrow he will leave me, As my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said " Nevermore." Startled at the stillness broken By reply so aptly spoken, " Doubtless," said I, " what it utters Is its only stock and store. Caught from some unhaj^jpy master, Wliom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster, Till his songs one burden bore, Till the dirges of his hope the LL 301 THE RAVEN. Melancholy burden bore Of ' Never — nevermore/ " But the raven still beo;uilino; All my sad soul mto smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in Front of bird, and bust and door ; Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking What this ominous bird of yore, What this grim, ungainly, ghastly. Gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking " Nevermore." This I sat engaged in guessing, But no syllable expressing To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now Burned into my bosom's core ; This, and more, I sat divining. With my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining That the lamplight gloated o'er ; But whose velvet violet lining. With the lamplight gloating o'er, She shall press — ah, nevermore ! Then, meth ought, the air grew denser, Perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by angels, whose faint footfalls Tinkled on the tufted floor. 302 THE RAVEN. " Wretch 1 " I cried, '' thy God hath lent thee, By these angels he hath sent thee, Respite — respite and nepenthe From thy memories of Lenore ! Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, And fors:et this lost Lenore I " Quoth the raven " Nevermore." " Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil I Prophet still, if bird or devil ! Whether tempter sent, or whethei* Tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, On this desert land enchanted, On this home by Horror haunted, Tell me truly, I implore : Is there, is there balm in Gilead ? Tell me — tell me, I implore!" Quoth the raven "Nevermore." " Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil ! Prophet still, if bird or devil ! By that heaven that bends above us. By that God we both adore. Tell this soul with sorrow laden If, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden Whom the angels name Lenore, Clasp a rare and radiant maiden Whom the angels name Lenore." Quoth the raven " Nevermore." 303 THE RAVEN. " Be that word our sign of parting, Bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstartmg; " Get thee back into the tempest And the Nio^ht's Plutonian shore ! Leave no black plume as a token Of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! Leave my loneliness unbroken ! Quit the bust above my door ! Take thy beak from out my heart, And take thy form from off my door ! " Quoth the raven " Nevermore." And the raven, never flitting, Still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas Just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming Of a demon's that is (h-eaming, And the lamplight, o'er him streaming. Throws his shadow on the floor ; And my soul from out that shadow That lies floating on the flooi Shall be lifted — nevermore ! Edgar Allan Poe. 304 ON A GIRDLE. That wliicli her slender waist confined Sliall now my joyful temples bind ; No monarch but would give his crown, His arms mio;ht do what this hath done, It was my Heaven's extremest sphere, The pale which held that lovely deer MM 305 THE MOTHER'S LAST SONG. My joy, my grief, my liope, my lo\'e, Did all within this circle move. A narrow compass ! and yet there Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair. Give me but what this ribbon bound. Take all the rest the sun goes round ! E DM UN D AV A L L K H. THE MOTHER'S LAST SONG. Sleep ! — The ghostly Avinds are blowing ; No moon abroad, no star is glowing ; The river is deep, and the tide is flowing To the land where you and I are going : We are going afar. Beyond moon or star. To the land where the sinless ancrels are. I lost my heart to your heartless sire, ('Twas melted away by his looks of fire,) Forgot my God, and my father's ire, All for the sake of a man's desire ; But now we'll go Where the waters flow, And make us a bed where none shall know. Tlie world is cruel, the world is untrue ; Our foes are many, our friends are few ; *^/Ae '^iuy^S UtUjuljc y^rt^ a..^7> -^ A-i^e. J^tT^'*^^ n^&a<4. pci^^ Cf/cuir' A/? AT THE CriURCH GATE. No work, no bread, however we sue ! What is there left for me to do, But %, % From the cruel sky. And hide in the deepest deeps — and die ! Bryan Waller Procter. (Barry Cornwall.) AT THE CHURCH GATE. Although I enter not. Yet round about the spot Ofttimes I hover; And near the sacred gate, With longing eyes I wait. Expectant of her. The minster bell tolls out Above the city's rout. And noise and humming. They've hushed the minster bell ; The organ 'gins to swell : She's coming, she's coming! My lady comes at last, Timid, and stepping fast. And hastening hither. With modest eyes downcast ; She comes — she's here, she's past! May Heaven go with her ! 307 SPIK WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. Kneel undisturbed, fair saint ! Pour out your praise or plaint Meekly and duly ; I will not enter there, To sully your pure praj^er With thoughts unruly. But suffer me to pace Round the forbidden place, Lino-erino- a minute, Like outcast spirits, who wait, And see, through Heaven's gate, Ano;els within it. William Makkpeace Thackeray. SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight, A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament : Her eyes as stars of twilight fair. Like twihght's, too, her dusky hair ; But all thino;s else about her drawn From May time and the cheerful dawn ; A dancing shape, an image gay. To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 308 THE MOTHER NIGHTINGAEE. I saw her, upon nearer view, A spirit, yet a woman too ! Her household motions hglit and free, And steps of virgin liberty ; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet ; A creature not too bright or 2;ood For human nature's daily food : For transient sorrows, simple wiles. Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine ; A being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller between life and death ; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill : A perfect woman, nobly planned. To warn, to comfort, and command ; And yet a spirit still, and bright With something of an angel light. William Woudswoutk. THE MOTHER NIGHTINGALE I HAVE seen a nightino-ale On a sprig of thyme bewail. Seeing the dear nest, which was Hers alone, borne off, alas ! 3()!» THE MOTHER NIGHTINGALE. By a laborer ; I heard, For this outrage, the poor bird Say a tlioiisand mournful things To the wind, which, on its wings. From her to the guardian of the sky. Bore her melancholy cry. Bore her tender tears. She spake As if her fond heart would break : One while, in a sad, sweet note, Guro;led from her strainino; throat. She enforced her piteous tale. Mournful prayer, and plaintive wail ; One while, with the shrill dispute Quite outwearied, she was mute ; Then afresh, for her dear brood. Her harmonious shrieks renewed. Now she whiged it round and round ; Now she skimmed along the ground ; Now from bough to bough, in haste. The delighted robber chased. And, alighting in his path. Seemed to say, 'twixt grief and Avrath, " Give me back, fierce rustic rude, Give me back my pretty brood ! " And I saw the rustic still Answered " That, I never will I " EsTEVAN Manuel de Villkgas. (^Spanish.) Translation of Thomas Koscoe. 310 MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE. My lieid is like to rend, Willie, My heart is like to break ; I'm wearin' aff my feet, Willie, I'm dyin' for your sake ! O, lay your cheek to mine, Willie, Your hand on my briest bane ; O, say ye'll think on me, Willie, When I am deid and gane ! It's vain to comfort me, Willie : Sair grief maun ha'e its will ; But let me rest upon your briest. To sab and greet my fill. Let me sit on your knee, Willie, Let me shed by your hair. And look into the face, Willie, I never sail see mair ! I'm sittin' on your knee, Willie, For the last time in my life : A puir heart-broken thing, Willie, A mither, yet nae wife ! 311 MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE. Ay, press your hand upon my heart, And press it mair and mair. Or it will burst the silken twine, Sae Strang is its despair. O, wae's me for the hour, Willie, When we thegither met ! O, wae's me for the time, Willie, That our first tryst was set ! O, wae's me for the loanin' green Where we were wont to ^ae ! And wae's me for the destinie That gart me luve thee sae ! O, dinna mind my words, Willie: I downa seek to blame ; But O, it's hard to live, Willie, And dree a warld's shame ! Het tears are hailin' ower your cheek, And hailin' ower your chin : Why weep ye sae for worthlessness, For sorrow, and for sin ? I'm weary o' this warld, Willie, And sick wi' a' I see ; I canna live as I ha'e lived. Or be as I should be. But fauld unto your heart, Willie, - The heart that still is thine. And kiss ance mair the white, wdiite cheek Ye said was red langsyne. 312 MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE. A stoun' gaes througli my lieid, Willie, A sail* stoun' tlirough my heart ; O liaucl me up, and let me kiss Thy brow ere we twa pairt. Anither, and anither yet ! How fast my Hfestrings break ! Fareweel, fareweel ! through yon kirkyard Step liclitly for my sake ! The lavrock in the lift, Willie, That lilts far ower our heid. Will sing the morn as merrilie Abune the clay-cauld deid ; And this green turf we're sittin' on, Wi' dew-draps shimmerin' sheen, Will hap the heart that luvit thee As warld has seldom seen. But O, remember me, Willie, On land where'er ye be ; And O, think on the leal, leal heart. That ne'er luvit ane but thee ! And O, think on the cauld, cauld mools That fyle my yellow hair. That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin Ye never sail kiss mair ! William Motiikkwkll H13 KORNER'S SWORD SONG, COMPLETED ONE HOUR BEFORE HE FELL ON THE IJATTLK-FIELn, AUG. 26, 1813. WORD at my left side gleaming ! Why is thy keen glance, beaming, So fondly bent on mine ? I love that smile of thine ! Hurrah ! " Borne by a trooper daring. My looks his fire-glance wearing, I arm a freeman's hand : This well delights thy brand ! Hurrah ! " Ay, good sword, ft-ee I wear thee ; And, true heart's love, I bear thee, Betrothed one, at my side. As my dear, chosen bride ! Hurrah ! '' To thee till death imited, Tliy steel's bright life is plighted ; Ah, were my love but tried ! When wilt thou wed thv bride ? H uiTali I JJ14 KORNER'S SWORD SONG. Tlie trumpet's festal warning Shall hail our bridal morning ; When loud the cannon chide, Then clasp I my loved bride I Hurrah ! *' O joy, when thine arms hold me ! I pine until they fold me. Come to me ! brideo;room, come ! Thine is my maiden bloom. Hurrah ! " Why, in thy sheath upspringing, Thou wild, dear steel, art ringing? Why clanging with delight. So eager for the fight ? Hurrah ! " Well may thy scabbard rattle : Trooper, I pant for battle ; Right eager for the fight, I clang with wild delight. Hurrah!" Why thus, my love, forth creeping? Stay in thy chamber, sleeping ; Wait still, in the narrow room : Soon for my bride I come. Hurrah ! 315 KORNER'8 SWORD SONG. '•'' Keep iiie not longer pining ! O for Love's garden, sliining With roses bleeding red, And bloomino; with the dead ! Hnrrah ! " Come from thy sheath, then, treasure I Thou troo|)er"s true eye-pleasui'e ! Come forth, my good s\voi"d, come ! Enter thy father-home ! Hurrali ! "■ Ha I in the free air £!;lancino', How brave this bridal dancino- ! How, in the sun's glad beams, Bride-like, thy bright steel gleams ! Hurrah ! " Come on, ye German horsemen I Come on, ye valiant Norsemen ! Swells not your hearts' warm tide ? Clasp each in hand his bride ! Hurrnh! Once at your left side sleeping. Scarce her veiled glance forth peeping ; Now, wedded with your right, God ])lights your bride in the light. Hurrah ! 316 KORNER'S SWORD SONG. Tlien press with warm caresses, Close lips and bridal kisses, Your steel ; — cursed be his head Who fails the bride he wed ! Now, till your swords flash, flinging Clear sparks forth, wave them singing. Day dawns for bridal pride ; Hurrah, thou iron bride! Hurrah ! Kakl Thi:oi)OK Korxku. (German.) Translation of Wti.liam B. Chohi.ey. THE RIVER TIME. O ! a wonderful stream is tlie River Time, As it runs through the realm of tears, With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme. And a broader sweep and a snrge sublime, As it blends with the ocean of Years. How the winters are drifting, like flakes of snow. And the summers, like buds between. And the year in the sheaf — so they come and they go-. On the river's breast, with its ebb and its flow. As it o'lides in the shadow and sheen. There's a magical isle up the River Time, Where the softest of airs are playing ; There's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime. And a song as sweet as a vesper chime. And the Jnnes with the roses are staying. And the name of the isle is the Long Ago, And Ave bury our treasures there ; There are brows of beauty, and bosoms of snow ; They are heaps of dust — but we loved them so! There are trinkets, and tresses of hair. 318 GIVE ME THE OLD. Tliere are fragments of song tliat nobody sings, And a part of an Infant's prayer ; Tliere's a lute unswept, and a harp wltliout strings ; There are broken vows, and pieces of rings, And the garments that She used to wear. There are iiands that are waved, when tlie fairy shore By the mirage is lifted in air ; And we sometimes hear, through the turbulent roar. Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before, When the wind down the river is fair. O ! remembered for aye be the blessed isle, All the day of our life till night ; When the evening comes with its beautiful smile. And our eves are closino; to slumber awhile. May that " Greenwood " of Soul be in sight ! Benjamin Franklin Tayi.oh GIVE ME THE OLD OLD WINK TO DltlNK, OLD WOOD TO BURN, OLD BOOKS TO UKAD, AND OLD FRIENDS TO CONVERSE WITH. I. Old wine to drink ! Ay, give the slippery juice That drippeth from the gra})e thrown loose Within the tun : 31!) GIVE ME THE OLD. Plucked from beneath the cliff Of sunny-sided Tenerlffe, And ripened 'neath the blink Of India's sun ! Peat whiskey hot, Tempered with well-boiled water I These make the lono; nio;ht shorter ; Foro-ettino; not Good stout old English porter. II. Old wood to burn ! Ay, bring the hill-side beech From where the owlets meet and screech, And ravens croak ; The crackling pine, and cedar sweet ; Bring too a clump of fragrant peat. Dug 'neath the fern ; The knotted oak, A fagot too, perhap. Whose bright flame, dancing, winking, Shall liffht us at our drinkino-; While the oozing sap Shall make sweet music to our thinking. m. Old books to read ! Ay, bring those nodes of Avit, The brazen-clasped, the vellum-writ. Time-honored tomes ! The same my sire scanned before, 320 GIVE ME THF. OLD. The same my grandsire thumbed o'er, The same his sire from college bore : The well-earned meed Of Oxford's domes. Old Homer blind, Old Horace, rake Anacreon, by Old TuLLY, Plautus, Terence lie ; Mort Arthur's olden minstrelsie. Quaint Burton, quainter Spenser, ay ! And Gervase Markham's venerie ; Nor leave behind The Holye Book by which we live and die. TV. Old friends to talk ! Ay, bring those chosen few, The wise, the courtly, and the true. So rarely found : Him for my wine, him for my stud. Him for my easel, distich, bud In mountain walk I Bring Walter good. With soulful Fred, and learned Will ; And thee, my alter ego^ (dearer still For every mood.) Robert Hinckley Messixger. S:>1 LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. I ARISE from dreams of tliee 111 the first sweet sleep of night, Wlien tlie winds are breathing Ionv, And the stars are shining bright. I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Has led me — who knows how ? To thy chamber window, sweet ! g\' The wandering airs, they faint On the dark and silent stream ; The champak odors fail Like sweet thoughts in a di-eain : The nightingale's com])laint. It dies upon her heart: As I must on thine, Beloved as thou art ! 322 THE BELLS OF SHANDON. O, lift me from tlie grass ! I die, I faint, I fail ! Let tliy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white, alas ! My heart beats loud and fast ; O, press it close to thine again, Where it will break at last ! Percy Bysshe Shelley THE BELLS OF SHANDON: Sabbata pango, Funera plango ; Solemnia clango. Inscription on an old Hh,i,i. With deep affection And recollection I often think of Those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would. In the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle Their magic spells. On this I ponder Where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, Sweet Cork, of thee, 828 THE BELLS OF SHANDON. With thy bells of Shanclon, That sound so grand on Tlie pleasant waters Of the river Lee. I've heard bells chiming Full many a clime in, Tolling sublime in Cathedral shrine, While. at a 2;libe rate Brass tongues would vibrate ; But all their music Spoke naught like thine. For memory, dwelling On each proud swelling Of thy belfry, knelling Its bold notes free, Made the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. Fv^e heard bells tollinoj Old Adrian's Mole hi, Their thunder rolling From the Vatican, And cymbals glorious Swinging uproarious In the gorgeous turrets Of Notre Dame ; 3-24 THE BELLS OF SHANDON. But thy sounds were sweeter Than the dome of Peter Fimgs o'er the Tiber, PeaHng solemnly. O, the bells of Sliand-)n Sound far more strand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. There's a bell in Moscow ; While on tower and kiosk O In Saint Sophia The Turkman gets, And loud in air Calls men to prayer From the tapering summit Of tall minarets. Such empty phantom I freely grant them ; But there's an anthem More dear to me : 'Tis the bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. FRA.NCIS Ma HON Y. (Father Pi out.) ?,2b THE DAYS THAT AKE NO MORE. Tears, idle tears ! I know not what they mean : Tears, from the depth of some divine despair, Rise in tlie heart,- and gather to the eyes, \n looking on the happy autumn fields. And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam o-litterins: on a sail That brings our friends up fi^om the under-world; Sad as the last which reddens over one I'll at sinks with all we love below the verge : So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. Ah ! sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square : So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. Dear as remembered kisses after death. And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others — deep as love. Deep as first love, and wild with all regret : O Death in Life ! the days that are no more. Alfred Tennysox. 3 -20 A DAY-DREAM. Mine eyes make pictures when they 're slnit : I see a fountain, large and fair, A willow and a ruined hut, And thee, and me, and Mary there. O Mary, make thy gentle lap our pillow ! Bend o'er us like a bower, my beautiful green willow ! A wild rose roofs the ruined shed, And that and summer well agree ; And lo ! where Mary leans her head. Two dear names carved upon the tree ! And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow : Our sister and our friend will both be here to-morrow. 'T was day ! But now, few, large, and bright, The stars are round the crescent moon ; And now it is a dark, warm night. The balmiest of the month of June. A glow-worm fallen, and on the marge remounting. Shines, and its shadow shines — fit stars for our sweet fountain O, ever, ever be thou blest ! For dearly, Nora, love I thee. This brooding warmth across my breast — This depth of tranquil bliss — ah, me ! 327 IF I HAD THOUGHT THOU COULDST HAVE DIEO. Fount, tree, and shed are gone, I know not whither ; But in one quiet room we three are still together. The shadows dance upon tlie wall, By the still-dancing fire-flames made ; And now they slumber, moveless all ; And now they melt to one deep shade. But not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee : I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart I feel thee. Thine eyelash on my cheek doth play ; 'T is Mary's hand upon my brow ! But let me check this tender lay, Which none may hear but she and thou. Like the still hive, at quiet midnight humming. Murmur it to yourselves, ye two beloved women ! Samuel Taylor Colehidgk IF I HAD THOUGHT THOU COULDST HAVE DIED. If I had thought thou couldst have died, I might not weep for thee ; But I forgot when by thy side. That thou couldst mortal be. It never through my mind had past That time would e'er be o'er. And I on thee should look my last, And thou shouldst smile no more. 328 IF I HAD THOUGHT THOU COULDST HAVE DIED And still upon that face I look, And think 'twill smile ao;ain ; And still the thought I will not brook That I must look in vain. But when I speak, thou dost not say What thou ne'er left'st unsaid ; And now I feel, as well I may, Sweet Mary, thou art dead ! If thou wouldst stay e'en as thou art, All cold and all serene, I still might press thy silent heart, And where thy smiles have been. While e'en thy chill bleak corse I have. Thou seemest still mine oavu ; But there — I lay thee in thy grave, And I am now alone. I do not think, where'er thou art. Thou hast forgotten me ; And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart In thinking too of thee ; Yet there was round thee such a dawn Of light ne'er seen before, As fancy never could have drawn, And never can restore. Chaklks VVolke. SUMMER LONGINGS. Las maiianas fioridas De Abril y Mayo. Calderon. Ah I my heart is weary waiting, Waiting for the May, Waiting for the pleasant rambles. Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles With the woodbine alternating. Scent the dewy way. Ah ! my heart is weary waiting. Waiting for the May. Ah ! my heart is sick with longhig, Longing for the May, Longing to escape from study. To the young face fair and ruddy. And the thousand charms belonging To the Summer's day. Ah ! my heart is sick with longing, Lono-ing; for the Mav. Ah ! my heart is sore with sighing, Sighing for the May, Sighing for their sure returning. When the summer beams are burning : 330 THE FISHER'S COTTAGE. Hopes and flowers that, dead or dying, All the Winter lay. Ah I my heart is sore with sighing, Sighing for the May. Ah ! my heart is pained with throbbing, Throbbing for the May, Throbbing for the seaside billows, Or the water-wooing willows, Where, in laughing and in sobbing. Glide the streams away. Ah ! my heart, my heart is throbbing, Throbbing for the May. Waiting sad, dejected, weary, Waiting for the May ! Spring goes by with wasted warnings, Moonlit evenings, sunbright mornings ; Summer comes — yet dark and dreary Life still ebbs away. Man is ever weary, weary. Waiting for the May ! I Denis Florence McCakth THE FISHER'S COTTAGE. We sat by the fisher's cottage, And looked at the stormy tide The evening mist came rising. And floating far and wide. .331 THE FISHER'S COTTAGE. One by one In the liglit-lions^e The lamps shone out on high ; And far on the dim horizon A ship went saiUng by. We spoke of storm and shipwreck, Of sailors, and how they live ; Of journeys 'twixt sky and water. And tlie sorrows and joys tliey give. We spoke of distant countries, In regions strange and fair ; And of the wondrous beings And curious customs there : Of perfumed lamps on the Ganges, Which are launched in the twilight hour ; And the dark and silent l^ralunlns, Who Avorship the lotus flower ; Of the Avretched dwaHs of Lapland, Broad-headed, wide-mouthed, and small. Who crouch round their oil-iires, cooking. And chatter and scream and bawl. And the maidens earnestly listened. Till at last we sj^oke no more ; The ship like a shadow had vanished. And darkness fell deep on the shore. Heixrich Heine. (German.) Translation of Chakles Godfrey Let.and. 332 WAKE, LADY ! Up ! quit thy bower ! late wears the lioiir, Long liave the rooks cawed round the tower O'er flower and tree loud hums the bee, And the wild kid sports merrily. The sun is bi-ight, the sky is clear : Wake, lady, wake ! and hasten here. Up ! maiden fair, and bind thy hair. And i-ouse thee in the breezy air I QQ 333 THE MERRY LARK WAS UP A:N^JD SINGING. The lulling stream that soothed thy dream Is dancing in the sunny beam. Waste not these hours, so fresh, so gay : Leave thy soft couch, and haste away ! Up ! Time will tell the morning bell Its service-sound has chimed well ; The aged crone keeps house alone, The reapers to the fields are gone. Lose not these hours, so cool, so gay : Lo ! while thou sleep'st they haste away I Joanna Baiijit,. THE MERRY LARK WAS UP AND SINGING. The merry, merry lark was up and singing, And the hare was out arid feeding on the lea, And the merry, merry bells below were ringing, When my child's laugh rang through me. Now the hare is snared, and dead beside the snow-yard. And the lark beside the dreary Avinter sea, And my baby in his cradle in the churchyard Waiteth there until the bells brino; me. ClIAULES KiNGSLKY. 3;u THE DULE'S I' THIS BONNET O' MINE The dule's i' this bonnet o' mine : My ribbins'll never be reet. Here, Mally, aw'm like to be fine, For Jamie'll be comin' to-neet ; He met me i' tli' lone tother day, (Aw wur gooin' for wayter to tli" well,) An' he begged that aw'd wed him i' May. Bi'th' mass, iv he'll let me, aw will ! When he took my two bonds into his : Good Lord, heaw they trembled between I An' aw durstn't look up in his face, Becose on him seein' my e'en. My cheek went as red as a rose ; There's never a mortal con tell Heaw happy aw felt — for, thae knows. One couldn't ha' axed him theirsel'. But th' tale wur at th' end o' my tung: To let it eawt wouldn't be reet. For aw thought to seem forrud wur wrung ; So aw towd him aw'd tell him to-neet. But, Mally, thae knows very weel. Though it isn't a thing one should own, (■Hi * 335 THE VOICELESS. Iv aw'cl th' pikein' o' tli' world to mysel', Aw'd oatlier ha' Jamie or noan. Neaw, Mally, awVe towd tliae my mliid ; What would to do iv it wnr thee ? " AwVl tak him just wdiile he're inclined, An' a farrantly bargain he'll be ; For Jamie's as greadly a lad As ever stept eawt into th' sun. Go, jump at thy chance, an' get wed : An' mak th' best o' th' job when it's done ! " Eh, dear ! but it's time to be gwon : Aw shouldn't like Jamie to w^ait ; Aw connut for shame be too soon, An' aw wouldn't for th' w^orld be too late. Aw'm o' ov a tremble to th' heel : Dost think 'at my bonnet'Il do ? '"'• Be off, lass — thae looks very weel ; He wants noan o' th' bonnet, tliae foo ! " Edwin Waugh. THE VOICELESS. We count the broken lyres that rest Where the sweet wailing sino-ers slumber, But o'er their silent sister's breast The wild flowers who wnll stoop to number ? 336 \4 I \ THE VOICELESS. A few can touch the magic string, And noisy Fame is proud to win theiii ; Alas for those that never sing, But die with all their music in them ! Nay, grieve not for the dead alone. Whose song has told their hearts' sad story : Weep for the voiceless, who have known The cross without the crown of glory ! Not where Leucadian breezes sweep O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow, But where the glistening night-dews weep On nameless sorrow's churchyard pillow. O hearts that break and give no sign, Save whitening lip and fading tresses, Till Death pours out his cordial wine Slow-dropped from Misery's crushing presses ! If singing breath or echoino; chord To every hidden pang were given. What endless melodies were poured, As sad ns Earth, as sweet as Heaven ! Olivku VVendkll Holmks. : I so truly thee bemoan. That I shall weep, though I be stone, Until my tears, still drooping, wear My breast, themselves engraving there. There at my feet shalt thou be laid. Of purest alabaster made; For I would have thine image be White as I can, though not as thee. Andrkw Makvell. THE WEEPEN LIADY. When liate o' nights, above the green. By thik wold house the moon da sheen, A liady there, a-hangen low Her head's, a wa'ken to an' fro. In robes so white's the driven snow : Wi' oon yarm down, Avhile oon da rest, All lily-white, athirt the breast O' thik poor weepen liady. IT 353 THE WEEPKN LIADY. The wliii'dlen win' and whislen squall Da sliiake the ivy b}^ tlie wall, An' miake tlie plyen tree-tops rock, But never ruffle her wliite frock ; An' slammen door, an' rottlen lock. That in thik empty house da zound. Da never zeem to miake look round Thik ever downcast liady. A liady, as the tiale da goo, That oonce lived there, an' loved too true, Wer by a young man cast azide : A mother zad, but not a bride ; An' then her father, in his pride An' anger, offered oon o' two Vull bitter things to undergoo, To tliik poor weepen liady : That she herzuf shood leave his door, To darken it ao;en noo muore ; Ar that her little playsome chile, A-zent awoy a thousan' mile, Shood never meet her eyes, to smile An' play agen ; till she in shiame Shood die, an' leave a tarnished iiiaine; A zad varziaken liady ! " Let me be lost," she cried, " the while I da but know var my poor chile ; " An' left the huome ov all her pride, To wander droo the wordle wide, 354 DRIFTING. Wi' grief that vew but she ha tried ; An' hk' a flower a blow ha broke, She withered wi' thik deadly stroke, An' died a weepen liady. An' she da keep a-conien on, To zee thik father dead an' gone ; As if lier soul cood ha' noo rest, Avore her teary cheak's a-prest By his vargiven kiss. Zoo blest Be they that can but live in lo\'e, An' Tind a pliace o' rest above, Unlik the weepen liady ! William Bauxks. DRIFTING. My soul to-day Is far away, Saihng the Vesuvian Bay ; My winged boat, A bird afloat. Swims round tlie jjurple peaks remote Round purple peaks It sails, and seeks Blue inlets and their crystal creeks, Where high rocks throw. Through dee])s l)elow, A duplicated golden glow. TT * 35.5 DRIFTING. Far, vague, and dim, The mountains swim ; While on Vesuvius' misty brim. With outstretched hands The gray smoke stands, O'erlooking; the volcanic lands. Here Ischia smiles O'er liquid miles ; And yonder, bluest of tlie isles. Calm Capri waits. Her sapphire gates Beguiling to her bright estates. I heed not if My rippling skiff Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff: With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Under the walls of Paradise. Under the walls Where swells and falls The bay's deep breast at intervals. At peace I lie, Blown softly by, A cloud upon this liquid sky. The day, so mild. Is Heaven's own child, With Earth and Ocean reconciled ; 356 DRIFTING. The airs I feel Around me steal Are murmuriiio; to the murmurina keel, Over the rail My hand I trail Within the shadow of the sail : A joy intense, The cooling sense Glides down my drowsy indolence. With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Where Summer sings and never dies , O'erveiled with vines, She glows and shines Among her future oil and wines. Her children, hid The cliffs amid, Are gambollino; with the o;ambollini>; ki8 EVENING. Sweet after sliowers, ambrosial air, That rollcst from tlie gorgeous gloom Of evening, over brake and bloom And meadow, slowly breathing bare The round of space, and rapt below. Through all the dewy-tasselled wood, 359 UNSEEN SPIRITS. And shadowing down the horned flood III ripples — fan my brows, and blow Tlie fever from my cheek, and sigh The full new life that feeds thy breath Throughout my frame, till Doubt and Death, 111 brethren, let the fancy fly From belt to belt of crimson seas. On leagues of odor streaming far. To where, in yonder orient star, A hundred spirits wliisper ^' Peace ! " Alfi'vEd Tennyson. UNSEEN SPIRITS. The shadows lay along Broadway : 'Twas near the twilight- tide ; And slowly there a lady fair Was Avalking in her pride. Alone walked she ; but, viewlessly, Walked spirits at her side. Peace charmed the street beneath her feet. And Honor charmed the air ; And all astir looked kind on her. And called her good as fair ; For all God ever o^ave to her She kept with chary care. •AQO Cc^ ^"^Ce_ ei^h4:L^L^ ^^^-^^tZM A^t^/ie/- /^ . . .^ yi ^ ^^^^ Ae- Oyh-Cd C^c. 410 A lIKALTil. 1 FiLi. this cuj) to one iiuule nj) Of loveliness alone: A woman — of her gentle sex The seeming paragon ; To whom the better elements And kindlj stars have given A form so fair, that, like the air, 'Tis less of Earth than Heaven. Her every tone is music's own. Like those of morning birds ; And somethhig more tlian melody Dwells ever in her words : The coinage of her heart are they, And from her lips each flows As one may see the burdened bee ^ Forth issue from the rose. Affections are as thoughts to her, The measures of her hours ; Her feelings have the fragrancy. The freshness of young flowers ; And lovely passions, changing oft, So fill her, she appears The image of themselves by turns, The idol of ])ast years. AAA* 411 ABSENCE. On lier bright face one glilnce will trace A picture on the brain, And of her voice in echoing hearts A sonnd must long remain ; But memory, such as mine of lier, So very much endears, Wlien death is nigh my ktest sigh AVill not be hfe's, but hers. i fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone : A woman — of her gentle sex Tiie seeming paragon. Her health ! and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame. That life might be all poetry. And weariness a name. EdWAKI) CoATK ^I^-KNKY ABSENCE. What shall I do with all the days and hours That must be counted ere I see thy face ? How shall I charm the interval that loAvers Between this time and that sweet time of grace ? Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense, Weary with longing ? Shall I flee away Into past days, and Avith some fond pretence Cheat myself to forget the present day ? 412 ABSENCE. Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin Of casting from me God's o-reat sift of time ? Shall I, these mists of memory locked within, Leave and forget life's purposes sublime ? ! how, or by what means, may I contrive To brino- the hour tliat brinos thee back more near ? How may I teach my drooping hope to live Until that blessed time, and thou art here ? I'll tell thee : for thy sake I will lay hold Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee. In Avorthy deeds, each moment that is told. While thou, beloved one, art far from me. For thee I will arouse my thoughts, to try All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains ; For thy dear sake I will walk patiently Through these long hours, nor call their minutes pains. 1 will this dreary blank of absence make A noble task-time ; and will therein strive To follow excellence, and to o'ertake More nood than I have won since vet I live. & So may this doomed time build u[) in me A thousand graces, which shall thus be thine ! So may mv love and lono-iuo' hallowed be, And thy dear thought an influence divine ! Finances Kemble Butler. 4I.J A WISH. Mink l)e m cot Ixvside tlie liill ! A beehive's lium sliall sootlie my enr ; A will()\vy brook, tliat turns a mill, Witli many a fall shall linger neai*. The swallow ofr, beneath my thatch, Shall twitter from her clay-built nest ; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal — a welcome guest. Around my ivied porch shall spring Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew ; And Lucy at lier Avheel shall sing, In russet gown, and apron blue. The village cluirch, among the trees, Where first oin* marriajxe vows were o;iven, With merry peals shall swell the breeze, And poijit with taper spire to heaven. S AM U K L ROG K RS. 414 ODE ON SOLITUDE. Happv tlie man wliosc wisli and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breatlie liis native air, In liis own ground ; Whose herds with milk, wliose fields witli bread, Whose flocks su])})ly him with attire ; Whose trees in Sununer yield him shade, In Winter fire. Blest wlio can unconcernedly find Hours, days, and years slide soft away, Li health of body, ])eace of mind ; Quiet bv day, Sound sleej) bN' m'ght ; study and ease, Together mixt ; sweet recreation ; And innocence, which most does please With meditation. Tlius let me live — inisoen, unknown: Thus unlamented let me die ! Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie ! Alkxa.vdek Popk. 415 ^3; BINGEX ON THE RHINE. A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Ali^iers • There Avas lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears ; But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away, And bent with pitying glances, to hear what he might say. The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand, And lie said " I never more shall see my own, my native land. Take a message and a token to some distant friends of mine ; For T was born at Binoen — at Bino-en on the Rhine, • Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around. To hear my mournfiil story, in the pleasant vineyard ground, That we fough. the battle bravely ; and when the day was done. Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath the setting sun. 416 BINGEN ON THE RHINE. And midst the dead and dying were some grown old in wars, The death-wounds on their gallant breasts the last of many scars : But some were young, and suddenly beheld life's morn decline ; And one had come from Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine! '' Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, For I was still a truant bird that thouo;ht his home a caoe ; For my father was a soldier, and even as a child My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild ; And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, I let them take whate'er they would — but kept my father's sword; And with boyish love I hung it, where the bright light used to shine. On the cottage wall at Bingen — calm Bingen on the Rhine. '' Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, When the troops come marching home again, with glad and gallant tread ; But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye. For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid to die ; And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame ; And to hang the old sword in its place, my father's sword and mine, For the honor of old Binoen — dear Bingen on the Rhine. '* There's another, not a sister : in the happy days gone by You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye ; Too innocent for coquetry, too fond for idle scorning: O, friend I I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning. Tell her the last night of my life (for ere tins moon be risen, BBB 417 BINGEN ON THE RHINE. My body will be out of* pain, my soul be out of prison), I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine On the vine-clad hills of Bincren — fair Bino-en on the Rhine. " I saw the blue Rhine sweep along ; I heard, or seemed to hear, The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear ; And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill. The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still ; And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed, with friendly talk, Down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remembered walk ; And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine : But we'll meet no more at Bing-en — loved Bino;en on the Rhine!" His voice grew faint and hoarse — his grasp was childish weak ; His eyes put on a dying look — he sighed, and ceased to speak ; 418 ¥ THE SEA. His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of Ufe had fled : The soldier of the Lemon in a foreign land was dead ! And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corpses strown. Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine, As it shone on distant Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine. Caroline Elizabeth Norton. THE SEA. Through the night, through the nigh^ In the saddest unrest, Wrapt in white, all in white. With her babe on her breast, Walks the mother so pale. Staring out on the gale Through the night! 419 HOME, SWEET HOME. Tlirough the niglit, through the night, Where the sea hfts the wreck, Land in sight, close in sight ! On the surf-flooded deck Stands the father so brave, Drivinof on to his afrave Tlirouo^h the nioht ! Richard Hp:xry Stoddard HOME, SWEET HOME ! 'Mu) [)leasures and palaces thougli we may roam, Be it never so humble, there's no place like home ! A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home^ home I Sweet home ! There's no place like home ! An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain ; O give me my lowly thatched cottage again ! The birds singing gayly, that came at my call : Give me these, and the peace of mind dearer than all. Home^ home! Siueet home! There''s no place like home! JoHx Howard Payne. 420 /h^i^ ^kXl^^^^^^ oi^aJc^^ -tA^r^..^ c^/^ ^^o^ 'X.r-U.,-.^^ / (/i^i^^^ '^^^^Occ rk.x.^-<^^i.Xi,^yL^eJ^ , y WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE. Woodman, spare that tree ! Touch not a smgle bough ! In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it no^^ . 'Twas my forefather's hand That placed it near his cot ; There, woodman, let it stand : Thine axe shall harm it not. That old familiar tree, Whose glory and renown Are spread o'er land and sea. And wouldst thou hew it down ? Woodman, forbear thy stroke : Cut not its earth-bound ties. O, spare that aged oak. Now towering to the* skies! When but an idle boy, I sought its grateful shade ; In all their gushing joy Here too my sisters played. My mother kissed me here, My father pressed my hand. Forgive this foolish tear. But let that old oak stand, ccc 421 WHEN THE KYE COME HAME. My heartstrings round thee cling, Close as thy bark, old friend ! Here shall the wild bird sing. And still thy branches bend. Old tree, the storm still brave ; And, woodman, leave the spot : While I've a hand to save. Thine axe shall harm it not. George P. Mouris. WHEN THE KYE COME HAME. Come all ye jolly shepherds. That whistle throuo;h the crlen ! I'll tell ye o' a secret That courtiers dinna ken: What is the greatest bliss That the tongue o' man can name ? 'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie When the kye come hame. When the hje come hame^ When the kye come hame : ^Tween the gloamirC an! the mirk^ When the kye come hame. *Tis not beneath the burgonet, Nor yet beneath the crown ; 'Tis not on couch o' velvet, Nor yet in bed o' down : 422 WHEN THE KYE COME HAME. Tis beneath the spreading bh'k, In the glen without the name, Wi' a bonnie bonnie lassie, When the kye come hame. There the blackbird bigs his nest, For the mate he lo'es to see, And on the tapmost bough O, a happy bird is he ! There he pours his melting ditty, And love is a' the theme ; And he'll woo his bonnie lassie, When the kye come hame. When the blewart bears a pearl. And the daisy tuinis a pea. And the bonnie lucken gowan Has fauldit up his ee. Then the lavrock, frae the blue lift, Draps down and thinks nae shame To woo his bonnie lassie. When the kye come hame. See yonder pawky shepherd. That Iino;ers on the hill : His yowes are in the fauld, And his lambs are lying still ; Yet he downa o^ano; to bed, For his heart is in a flame, To meet his bonnie lassie When the kye come hame. 423 whj:n the kye come hame. When the Httle wee bit heart Rises high in the breast, And the httle wee bit starn Rises red in the east, O ! there's a joy sae dear That the heart can hardly frame, Wi' a bonnie bonnie lassie, When the kye come hame. Then since all Nature joins In this love without alloy, O ! wha wad prove a traitor To Nature's dearest joy ? Or wha wad choose a crown, Wi' its perils an' its fame, And miss his bonnie lassie. When the kye come hame, When the hye come hame : When the kye come hame : ^T-ween the gloamin' arC the mirk^ When the hye come hame, James Hogg. 424 THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE. Word was brought to the Danish king, (Hurry !) Tliat the h)ve of his heart lay suffering, And pined for the comfort liis voice would bring ; (O ! ride as though you were flying!) Better he loves each o;olden curl On the brow of that Scandinavian oirl Than his rich crown-jewels of ruby and ])earl ; And his Rose of the Isles is dying. Thirty nobles saddled with speed ; (Hurry !) Each one mounted a gallant steed Which he kept for battle and days of need ; (O ! ride as though you were flying!) Spurs were struck in tlie foaming flank ; Worn-out charo-ers staoo-ered and sank ; Bridles were slackened, and girths were biu'st : But ride as they would, the king rode first ; For his Rose of the Isles lay dying. His nobles are beaten, one by one ; (Hurry !) They liave fainted, and faltered, and liomeward gone 425 THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE. His little fair page now follows alone, For strength and for courage trying. The king: looked back at that faithful child : Wan was the face that answering smiled. They passed the drawbridge with clattering din : Then he dropped ; and only the king rode in Where his Rose of the Isles lay dying. The king blew a blast on his bugle horn ; (Silence !) No answer came, but faint and forlorn An echo returned on the cold gray morn, Like the breath of a spirit sighing. The castle portal stood grimly wide ; None welcomed the king from that weary ride ; For, dead in the light of the dawning day. The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, Who had yearned for his voice wliile dying. The panting steed with a drooping crest Stood weary. The king returned fi'om her chamber of rest, The thick sobs choking in his breast ; And, that dumb companion eyeing. The tears gushed forth, which he strove to check ; He bowed his head on his charger's neck : " O, steed, that every nerve didst strain. Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain. To the halls where my love lay dying ! " Caroline Elizabeth Norton. 426 THE maidj:n'S choice. Genteel in personage, Conduct and equipage ; Noble by heritage, Generous and free ; Brave, not romantic ; Learned, not pedantic ; Frolic, not frantic : This must he be. Honor maintaining. Meanness disdaining, Still entertaining, Engaging and new ; Neat, but not finical ; Sage, but not cynical ; Never tyrannical. But ever time. Henky Fielding. 427 I'M GROWING OLD. My days pass pleasantly away, My nights are blest with sweetest sleep ; I feel no symptoms of decay, I have no. cause to mourn nor weep; My foes are impotent and shy, My friends are neither false nor cold ; And yet, of late, I often sigh : " I'm g-rowing old." My growing talk of olden times. My growing thirst for early news, My growing apathy to rhymes, My growing love of easy shoes. My growing hate of crowds and noise, My growing fear of taking cold : All whisper, in the plainest voice, I'm orrowino- old. I'm growing fonder of my staff, I'm growing dimmer in the eyes, I'm growing fainter in my laugh, I'm growing deeper in my sighs, I'm growing careless of my dress, I'm growing frugal of my gold, I'm growing wise, I'm growing — yes, I'm growing old. 4-28 I'M GROWING OLD. I see it in iny changing taste, I see it in my changing hair, I see it in my growing waist, I see it in my growing heir : A thousand signs proclaim the trntli, As plain as truth was ever told, Tliat, e^en in my vaunted youth, I'm ffrowino; old. All me ! my very laurels breathe The tale in my reluctant ears. And every boon the Hours bequeathe But makes me debtor to the Years. E'en Flattery's honeyed words declare The secret she would fain withhold, And tell me, in " How young you are," Fm growino; old. Thanks for the years whose rapid flight My sombre muse too sadly sings ! Thanks for the oleams of o^olden lio;ht That tint the darkness of their winss : The light that beams from out the sky, Those Heavenly mansions to unfold Where all are blest, and none may sigh *"' Fm orrowino; old ! " John Godfukv Saxk. 429 DINNA ASK ME. O ! DINNA ask me gin I lo'e ye : Trotlu I daiinia tell I Dinna ask me gin I lo'e ye ; Ask it o' yoiirsel'. O, dinna look sae sair at me, For weel ye ken me true ; O, gin ye look sae sair at me, I daurna look at you. When ye gang to yon braw braw town, And bonnier lassies see, O, dinna, Jamie, look at them, Lest ye should mind na me. For I could never bide the lass That ye'd lo'e mair than me ; And O, I'm sure my heart wad break, Gin ye'd prove fause to me ! J^UNLOP. 430 SONG OF THE BROOK. I COME from liaunts of coot and lieni I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, I'o bicker down a valley. 431 SONG OF THE BROOK. By thirty hills I hiuTy down, Or slip between the ridges : By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred brido-es. Till last by Philip's farm I flow, To join the brimming river ; For men may come and men may go, Bnt I go on forever. 1 chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles ; I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. With many a curve my banks 1 fret, By many a held and fallow. And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river ; For men may come and men may go, But I 2:0 on forever. C5 I wind about, and in and out. With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout. And here and there a grayling, 432 SONG OF THE BROOK. And here and there a foamy flake Upon me, as I travel, With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel ; And draw them all along, and flow To join the brimming river ; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. I steal by lawns and grassy plots : I slide by hazel covers ; I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers. I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows ; 1 make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows. I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses ; I linger by my shingly bars ; T loiter round my cresses. And out again I curve and flow, To join the brimming river ; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. Alfrkd Tennyson KEE 433 THE WAR-SONG OF DIN AS VAWR. The movintain sheep are sweeter, But the valley sheep are tatter ; We therefore deemed it meeter To carry off the latter. We made an expedition ; We met a host, and quelled it ; We forced a strong position, And killed the men who held it. On Dyfed's richest valley, Where herds of kine were browsing, We made a mighty sally. To furnish our carousing. Fierce warriors rushed to meet us ; We met them, and overthrew them. They struggled hard to beat us ; But we conquered them, and slew them. As we drove our prize at leisure. The king marched forth to catch us ; His rage surpassed all measure. But his people could not match us. 434 THE WAR-SONG OF DINAS VAWR He fled to his hall pillars ; And, ere oar force we led off, Some sacked his house and cellars, While others cut his head off. We there, in strife bewildering, Spilt blood enough to swim in : We orphaned many children, And widowed many women. The eagles and the ravens We glutted with our foemen : The heroes and the cravens. The spearmen and the bowmen. We brought away frqm battle, (And much their land bemoaned them). Two thousand head of cattle. And the head of him who owned them ; Ednyfed, king of Dyfed, His head was borne before as ; His wine and beasts supplied our feasts. His overthrow our chorus. Thomas Love Pkacock 435 MOTHER MARGERf. On a bleak ridge, from whose granite edges Sloped tlie rough land to the gi^isly north, And whose hemlocks, clinging to the ledges, Like a thin banditti staggered forth : In a crouching, wormy-timbered hamlet Mother Margery shivered in the cold. With a tattered robe of faded camlet On her shoulders — crooked, weak, and old ! Time on her had done his cruel pleasure ; For her face was very dry and thin, And the records of his growing measure Lined and cross-lined all her shrivelled skin. Scanty goods to her had been allotted. Yet her thanks rose oftener than desire ; While her bony fingers, bent and knotted, Fed with withered twigs the dying fire. Raw and weary were the northern winters ; Winds howled piteously around her cot. Or with rude sighs made the jarring splinters Moan the misery she bemoaned not. Drifting tempests rattled at her Avindows, And hung snow-wreaths round her naked bed ; While the wind-flaws muttered on the cinders. Till the last spark fluttered and was dead. 436 MOTHER MARGERY. Life had fresher hopes when she was younger, But their dying wrung out no complaints ; Chill, and penury, and neglect, and hunger. These to Margery were guardian saints. When she sat, her head was, prayer-like, bending ; When she rose, it rose not any more. Faster seemed her true heart graveward tending Than her tired feet, weak and travel-sore. She was mother of the dead and scattered. Had been mother of the brave and fair ; But her branches, bough by bough, were shattered, Till her torn breast was left dry and bare. Yet she knew, though sadly desolated, When the children of the poor depart Their earth-vestures are but sublimated. So to gather closer in the heart. With a courage that had never fitted Words to speak it to the soul it blessed, She endured, in silence and unpitied. Woes enough to mar a stouter breast : Thus was born such holy trust within her That the graves of all who had been dear. To a recrion clearer and serener Raised her spirit from our chilly sphere. They were footsteps on her Jacob's ladder ; Angels to her were the loves and hopes Whicli had left her purified, but sadder ; And they lured lier to the emerald slopes 437 MOTHER MARGERY. Of that Heaven where Anguish never flashes Her red fire-whips — happy land, where flowers Blossom over the volcanic ashes Of this blighting, blighted world of ours I All her power was a love of goodness ; All her wisdom was a mystic faith That the rough world's jargoning and rudeness Turn to music at the gate of Death. So she walked, while feeble limbs allowed her, Knowing well that any stubborn grief She might meet with could no more than crowd her To that wall whose opening was relief. So she lived, an anchoress of sorrow. Lone and peaceful, on the rocky slope ; And, when burning trials came, would borrow New fire of them for the lamp of hope. When at last her palsied hand, in groping. Rattled tremulous at the grated tomb, Heaven fiashed round her joys beyond her hoping. And her young soul gladdened into bloom. George Shepherd Burleigh. 438 THE WIDOW AND CHILD. Home they brought her warrior dead ; She nor swooned, nor uttered cry. All her maidens, watching, said " She must weep, or she will die ! " Then they praised him, soft and low ; Called him worthy to be loved : Truest friend and noblest foe ! Yet she neither spake nor moved. Stole a maiden from her place, Lightly to the warrior stept. Took a face-cloth from the face ; Yet she neither moved nor wept. Rose a nurse of ninety years. Set his child upon her knee. Like summer tempest came her tears : ;| " Sweet my child, I live for thee ! " Alfked Tennysojs. 439 LOUIS XV. The king, with all the kinglj train, had left his Pompadour he- hind, And forth he rode in Senart's wood, the royal heasts of chase to find. That day, by chance, the monarch mused ; and turning suddenly away. He struck alone into a path that far from crowds and courtiers lay. He saw the pale green shadows play upon the brown untrodden earth ; He saw the birds around him flit, as if he were of peasant birth ; He saw the trees, that know no king but him wlio bears a wood- land axe ; He thought not — but he looked about, like one who still in thinking lacks. Then close to him a footstep fell, and glad of human sound was he ; For, truth to say, he found himself but melancholy companie. But that which he would ne'er have guessed before him now most plainly came : The man upon his weary back a coffin bore of rudest frame. " Why, who art thou ? " exclaimed the king ; " and what is that I see thee bear? " " I am a laborer in the wood, and 'tis a coffin for Pierre. 440 LOUIS XV. Close by the royal h an ting-lodge you may have often seen him toil; But he will never work again, and I for liim must dig the soil." The laborer ne'er had seen the king, and this he thought was but a man ; Who made at first a moment's pause, and then anew his talk be- gan : " I think I do remember now — he had a dark and glancing eye ; And I have seen his sturdy arm with wondrous stroke the pickaxe " Pray tell me, friend, what accident can thus have killed our good Pierre ? " " O, nothing more than usual, sir : he died of living upon air. 'Twas hunger killed the poor good man, who long on empty hopes relied ; He could not pay gabelle and tax, and feed his children — so he died." The man stopped short ; and then went on — " It is, you know, a common story : Our children's food is eaten up by courtiers, mistresses, and glory." The king looked hard upon the man, and afterwards the coffin eyed ; Then spurred to ask, of Pompadour, how came it that the peasants died. John Sterling. 441 THE WONDERFU' WEAN. Our wean's the most wonderfu' wean e'er I saw ; It would tak me a lang simmer day to tell a' His pranks, frae the mornin' till night shuts his ee, When he sleeps like a peerie, 'tween father and me ; For in his quite turns siccan questions he'll speir ! How the moon can stick up in the sky that's sae clear ? What gars the wind blaw ? and whar frae comes the rain He's a perfec' divirt — he's a wonderfu' wean I Or wha was the first bodie's father ? and wha Made the vera first snaw-shooer that ever did fa' ? And wha made the first bird that sang on a tree? And the water that sooms a' the ships in the sea ? But after I've told him as weel as I ken, As^ain he becrins wi' his wha and his when ; And he looks aye sae wistfa' the whiles I explain ; He's as auld as the hills — he's an auld-farrant wean. And folk wha hae skill o' the lumps on the head Hint there's mae ways than toilin' o' winnin' ane's bread ; How he'll be a rich man, and hae men to work for him, Wi' a kyte like a baillie's, shug-shuggin' afore him ; Wi' a face like the moon — sober, sonsy, and douce. And a back, for its breadth, like the side o' a house. 442 THE WONDERFU' WEAN. 'Tweel ! I'm unco ta'en up wi't — they mak a' sae plain. He's just a town's talk ; he's a bj-ord'nar wean ! I ne'er can forget sic a laugh as I gat, To see him put on father's waistcoat and hat ; Then the lang-leggit boots gaed sae far owre his knees The tap-loops wi' his fingers he grippit wi' ease ; Then he marched through the house, he marched but, lie marched ben, Like owre mony mae o' our great little men, That I leuch clean outright, for I cou'dna contain : He was sic a conceit — sic an ancient-like wean ! But 'mid a' his daflfin sic kindness he shows, That he's dear to mj heart as the dew to the rose ; And the. unclouded hinny-beam aye in his ee Maks him every day dearer and dearer to me. Though Fortune be saucy, and dorty, and dour, And gloom through her fingers like hills through a shooer, When bodies hae gat a bit bit bairn o' their ain, How he cheers up their hearts! — he's a wondertu' wean! William Millek. 443 THE STORMING OF MAGDEBURGH, When the breach was open laid, Bold we mounted to the attack : Five times the assault was made; Four times were we driven back ! But the fifth time up we strode, O'er the dying and the dead. Red the western sunbeams glowed, Sinking in a blaze of red ; Redder in the gory way Our deep plashing footsteps sank. As the cry of "Slay — Slay — Slay!" Echoed fierce from rank to rank. And we slew, and slew, and slew : Slew them with unpitying sword. Negligently could we do The commanding of the Lord? Fled the coward, fought the brave. Wept the widow, wailed the child ; But there did not 'scape the glaive Man that frowned, nor babe that smiled. There were thrice ten thousand men When that morning's sun arose ; Lived not thrice three hundred when Sunk that sun at evening's close. 444 THE STORMING OF MAGDEBURGH. Then we spread the wasting flame, Fed to fury by the wind : Of the city — but the name, Nothing else, remained behind. But it burned not till it gave All it had to yield of spoil: Should not brave soldadoes have Some rewarding for their toil ? What the villain sons of trade Earned by years of toil and care, Prostrate at our bidding laid. In one moment won — was there. Hall and palace, dome and tower, Lowly cot and soaring spire. Sank in that victorious hour Which consigned the town to fire. Then throughout the burning town, 'Mid the steaming heaps of dead. Cheered by sound of hostile moan. We the gorgeous banquet spread : Laughing loud and quaffing long. At our glorious labor o'er. To the skies our jocund song Told Magdeburgh was no more ! William Maginn. 445 THE MINSTREL'S SONG IN ELLA. f O, SING unto my roundelay ! O, drop the briny tear with me ! Dance no more at hohday: Like a running river be ! - My love is dead, Crone to his death-bed, All under the willow tree. Black his hair as the winter night, White his neck as the summer snow, Ruddy his face as the morning hght ; Cold he lies in the grave below. Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note ; Quick in dance as thought can be ; Deft his tabor, cudgel stote. O! he lies by the willow tree. Hark ! the raven flaps his wing, In the briered dell below ; Hark ! the death-owl loud doth sing To the nightmares as they go. 446 THE MINSTREL'S SONG IN ELLA. See ! the white moon shines on high ! Whiter is my true-love's shroud — Whiter than the morning sky, Whiter than the evening cloud. Here, upon my true-love's grave, Shall the gairish flowers be laid ; Nor one holy saint to save All the sorrows of a maid. With my hands I'll bind the briers, Round his holy corse to gre ; Elf and fairy, light your fires ! Here my body still shall be. Come, with acorn-cup and thorn ! Drain my heart's blood all away I Life and all its good I scorn : Dance by night, or feast by day! My love is dead, Grone to his death-bed. All under the willow tree. Water-witches, crowned with reytes, Bear me to your deadly tide ! I die ! — I come ! My true-love waits ! Thus the damsel spake — and died. Thomas Chatterton. 447 1 aiVE MY SOLDIER-BOY A BLADE. I GIVE my soldier-boy a blade, In fair Damascus fashioned well ; Who first the glittering falchion swayed, Who first beneath its fury fell, I know not.; but I hope to know That for no mean or hireling trade. To guard no feeling base or low, I give my soldier-boy a blade. Cool, calm, and clear, the lucid flood In which its tempering work was done ; As calm, as clear, as cool of mood. Be thou whene'er it sees the sun : For country's claim, at Honor's call. For outraged friend, insulted maid. At Mercy's voice to bid it fall, I give my soldier-boy a blade. The eye which marked its peerless edge. The hand that weighed its balanced poise, Anvil and pincers, forge and wedge. Are gone, with all their flame and noise ; And still the gleaming sword remains : So, when in dust I low am laid. Remember, by these heart-felt strains, I gave my soldier-boy a blade. William Maginn. 448 THE MAHOGANY TREE. Christmas is here: Winds whistle shrill, Icy and chill. Little care we ; Little we fear Weather without, Sheltered abont The Mahogany Tree. Once on the boughs Birds of rare plume Sang, in its bloom ; Night-birds are we. Here Ave carouse, Singing like them, Perched round the stem Of the jolly old tree. Here let us S})()rt, Boys, as we sit, Laughter and wit Flashino; so free. 449 THE MAHOGANY TREE. Life is but sliort ; When we are gone, Let them sing on, Round tlie old tree. Evenino;s we knew Happy as this ; Faces we miss, Pleasant to see. Khid hearts and true. Gentle and just, Peace to your dust ! We sing round the tree. Care, like a dun. Lurks at the gate : Let the dog wait ; Happy w^e'll be ! Drink, every one ; Pile u}) the coals ; Fill the red bowls, Round the old tree ! Drain we the cuj) : Friend, art afraid ? Spirits are laid In the Red Sea. Mantle it up ; Empty it yet ; Let us forget, Round the old tree. 450 UK GRACE OF SIMPLICITY Sorrows, beii-oiie ! Life and its ills, Duns and their bills. Bid we to flee. Come with tlie dawn, Bine-devil sprite ! Leave ns to-nio;ht, Ronnd the old tree ! William Makki'kack Thackkuav THE GRACE OF SIINIPLICITY. S'rii.L to be neat, still to be drest As von were o;oino; to a feast. Still to be powdered, still ])erfnined ! Lady, it is to be presumed. Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a fjiee, That makes simplicity a grace ; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art ; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. Bkn Jonson. GG(; * 451 JAMES MELVILLE'S CHILD. One time my soul was pierced as with a sword, Contendincr still with men untauo;ht and wild, When He who to the prophet lent his gourd Gave me the solace of a i)leasant child. A smnmer gift, my precious flower was given , A very summer fragrance was its life ; Its clear eyes soothed me as the blue of heaven. When home I turned, a weary man of strife. With unformed laughter, nmsically sweet. How soon the wakening babe would meet my kiss : With outstretclied arms, its care-wrouo;ht father o-reet ! O, in the desert, what a spring was this I A few short months it blossomed near my heart : A few short months, else toilsome all, and sad ; But that home-solace nerved me for my part. And of the babe I was exceedino; glad. Alas ! my pretty bud, scarce formed, was dying ; (The prophet's gourd, it withered in a night !) And He who gave me all, my heart's pulse trying. Took gently home the child of my delight. 452 JAMES MELVILLE'S CHILD. Not rudely culled, not suddenly it perished, But gradual faded from our love away : As if, still, secret dews, its life that cherished, Were drop by drop withheld, and day by day. My blessed Master saved me from repining, So tenderly He sued me for His own ; So beautiful He made my babe's declining, Its dying blessed me as its birth had done. And daily to my board at noon and even Our fading flower I bade his mother bring, That we might commune of our rest in Heaven, Gazino; the while on death, without its stino;. And of the ransom for that baby paid So very sweet at times our converse seemed, Tliat the sure truth of grief a gladness made : Our little lamb by God's own Lamb redeemed ! There were two milk-white doves, my wife had nourished ; And I too loved, erewhile, at times to stand Marking how each the other fondly cherished, And fed them from my baby's dimpled hand I So tame they grew that, to his cradle flying, Full oft they cooed him to his noontide rest ; And to the murmurs of his sleep replying, Cre))t gently in, and nestled in his breast. 453 JAMES AlEL VILLI'S CiJILl). .\^^A^^ 'Twas a fair sight: the snow-pale infant siee])nig, So fondly guardianed bv those creatnres mild, Watch o'er his closed eyes their bright eyes keej)ing Wondrous the love betwixt the birds and child I Still as he sickened seemed tlie doves too dwining, Forsook their food, and loathed their pretty play ; And on the day lie died, with sad note pining, One gentle bird would not be frayed away. His mother found it, when she rose, sad-hearted. At early dawn, with sense of nearing ill ; And wlien, at last, the little spirit parted. The dove died too, as if of its heart-chill.. 454 TO MARY IN HEAVEN. Tlie other flew to meet my sad home-riding, As with a human sorrow in its coo ; To my dead cliild and its dead mate then guidino;, Most pitifully plained — and parted too. 'Twas my first hansel and propine to Heaven ; And as I laid my darling 'neath the sod, Precious His comforts — once an infant given. And offered with two turtle-doves to God ! Mhs. a. Stuart Mextkath. TO MARY IN HEAVEN. Thou lingering star, with lessening ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usherest in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary ! dear, departed shade ' Where is thy place of blissful rest ? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the o*roans that rend liis breast ? That sacred hour can I forget. Can I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love ? 4n.- TO MARY IN HEAVEN. Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past, Tliv imao-e at our last embrace : Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! Ayr, gurgling-, kissed his pebbled shore, O'erhunp; with wildwoods, thickenino' o-reen ; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar. Twined amorous round the raptured scene. The flowers sprang wanton to be prest. The birds sang love on every spray. Till too, too soon, the glowing west Proclaimed the speed of winged day. Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, And fondly broods with miser care ; Time but th' impression deeper makes, As streams their chaiuiels deeper wear. My Mary ! dear, departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest ? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the o;roans that rend his breast ? Robert BuuNti. THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. Our buffles sano; truce ; for the niolit-cloud had lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered : The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die, VVlien reposing that niglit on my pallet of straw. By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw. And thrice ere the niornino- I dreamt it ao;ain. Metliouglit from the battle-field's dreadful array Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track : 'Twas Autumn — and sunshine arose on the way To the liome of my fathers, that welcomed ilie back. 1 flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom wa§ young ; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-rea]iers sung. Then pledged we the winecuj), imd fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to part ; My little ones kissed me a thonsand times oer. And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart. iiHii 457 IT IS NOT BEAUTY 1 DEMAND. Stay, stay with us ! — rest ; thou art weary and worn ! And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ; But sorrow returned with the dawnino; of morn. And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. Thomas Campbell. IT IS NOT BEAUTY I DP:MAND. It is not beauty I demand : A crystal brow, the moon's despair ; Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand ; Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair. Tell me not of your starry eyes ; Your lips, that seem on roses fed ; Your breasts, where Cupid tumbUng lies. Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed ; A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks. Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours ; A breath that softer music speaks Than summer winds a- wooing flowers. These are but gauds ; nay, what are lips "^ Corals beneath the ocean-stream, Whose brink when your adventurer slips, Full oft he perisheth on them. 458 IT IS NOT BEAUTY I DEMAND. And what are cheeks, but ensigns oft, That wave hot youth to fields of blood ? Did Helen's breast, though ne'er so soft, Do Greece or Ilium any good ? Eyes can with baleful ardor burn, Poison can breathe, that erst perfumed ; There's many a white hand holds an urn, With lovers' hearts to dust consumed. For crystal brows, there's naught within : They are but empty cells for pride ; He who the Siren's hair would win Is mostly strangled in the tide. Give me, instead of beauty's bust, A tender heart, a loyal mind, Whicli with temptation I would trust, Yet never linked with error find ; One in whose gentle bosom I Could pour my secret heart of woes. Like the care-burdened honey-fly, Tliat hides his murmurs in the rose ; My earthly comforter ! wliose love So indefeasible might be. That when my spirit won above. Hers could not stay, for sympathy. Thomas Cahew. 459 WILLIE WINKIE. Wee Willie Winlde rins through the town, Up stairs and doon stairs, in his nicht-gown, Tirlin' at the window, cryin' at the lock, "Are the weans in their bed? — for it's now ten o'clock." Hey, Willie Winkie ! are ^^e comin' ben ? The cat's singin' gay thrums to the sleepin' hen. The doug's speldered on the floor, and disna gie a cheep ; But liere's a waukrife laddie, that winna fa' asleep. Onything but sleep, ye rogue! — glow'rin' like the moon, Rattlin' in an airn jug wi' an aii'u spoon, Rumblin', tumblin' roun' about, crawin' like a cock, Skirlin' like a kenna-what — wauknin' sleepin' folk! Hey, Willie Winkie ! the wean's in a creel ! AVamblin' aff a bodie's knee like a vera eel, Kuo'o'in' at the cat's luo;, and ravelin' a' her thrums : Hey, Willie Winkie! — See, there he comes! Wearie is the mither that has a storie wean, A wee stumpie stoussie, that canna I'in his lane. That has a battle aye wi' sleep, before he'll close an ee ; But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies strength anew to me. WlLLIA:Nr MrLLEH. 460 THE CHESS-BOARD. My little love, do you remember, Ere we were grown so sadly wise. Those evenings in the bleak December, Curtained warm from tlie snowy weather, When you and I played chess together, Checkmated by each other's eyes ? Ah I still I see your soft white hand Hovering warm o'er Queen and Kniglit. Brave Pawns in valiant battle stand ; The double Castles onard the Avino;s ; The Bishop, bent on distant things. Moves, sidling, through the light. Our fingers touch ; our glances meet. And falter ; falls your golden hair Against my cheek ; your bosom sweet Is heaving. Down the field, your Queen Rides slow, her soldiery all between. And checks me unaware. Ah me ! the little battle's done : Disperst is all its chivalry. Full many a move, since then, have w<> 'Mid life's per[)lexing checkers made. And many a game with Fortune ])layed : 461 THE ROYAL GUEST. What is it we have won ? This, this at least — if this alone : That never, never, nevermore, As in those old still nights of yore, (Ere we were grown so sadly wise,) Can you and I shut out the skies. Shut out the world, and wintry weather, And eyes exchanging warmth with eyes, Play chess, as then we played together ! Robert Bulweu Lytton. THE ROYAL GUEST. They tell me I am shrewd with otlier men ; With thee I'm slow, and diificult of speech. With others I may guide the car of talk ; 'J'hou wing'st it oft to realms beyond my reach. If other guests should come, I'd deck my hair. And choose my newest garment from the shelf; When thou art bidden, I would clothe my heart With holiest purpose, as for God himself For them I while the hours with tale or song. Or web of fancy, fringed with careless rhyme ; But how to find a fitting lay for thee. Who hast the harmonies of every time ? 462 THINK OF MK. O friend beloved ! I sit apart and dumb, Sometimes in sorrow, oft in joy divine ; My lip will falter, but my prisoned heart Springs forth to measure its faint pulse with thine. Thou art to me most like a royal guest, Whose travels bring him to some lowly roof Where simple rustics spread their festal fare And, blushing, own it is not good enough. Bethink thee then, whene'er thou com'st to me From high emprise and noble toil to rest, My thoughts are Aveak and trivial, matched with thine ; But the poor mansion offers thee its best. Julia Ward Howk. THINK OF ME. Go where the water glideth gently ever, Glideth throuo-h meadows that the cfreenest be : Go, listen to our own beloved river. And think of me. Wander in forests, where the small flower layeth Its fairy gem beneath the giant tree ; List to the dim brook, pining as it playeth, And think of me. 463 COME, LET rS KTSSE AND PARTE! And when the sky is silver-pale at even, And the wind grieveth in the lonely tree, AValk out beneatli the solitary heaven, And think of me. And when the moon riseth as she were dreaming, And treadeth with white feet the lulled sea, Go, silent as a star, beneath her beaming. And think of me. John Hamilton Keynolds. COiME, LET US KLSSE AND PARTE! Since there 's no helpe — come, let us kiss and parte ! Nay. I have done — you get no more of me ; And I am glad — yea, glad with all my liearte — That thus so cleanly I myselfe can free. Shake hands forever! — cancel all our vows; And when we meet at any time againe, Be it not scene in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retaine. Now — at the last gaspe of Loa'c's latest breath — When, his pulse failing. Passion speechlesse lies — When Faith is kneelino- bv his bed of death, And Innocence is closing up his eyes — Now I if thou would'st — when all have given him over — From death to life thou might' st him yet recover I Michael Drayton 464 QUA CURSUM VENTIJS. As ships becalmed at eve, that lay With canvas drooping, side by side, Two towers of sail, at dawn of day Are scarce long leagues apart descried W^hen fell the night, up-sprung the breeze. And all the darkling hours they plied ; Nor dreamt but each the self-same seas By each was cleaving, side by side : m 465 QUA CURSUM VENTUS. E'en so — bat why the tale reveal Of those whom, year by year unchanged, Brief absence joined anew, to feel. Astounded, soul from soul estranged ? At dead of night their sails w^ere filled, And onward each rejoicing steered ; Ah ! neither blamed, for neither willed Or wist what first with dawn appeared. To veer, how vain ! On, onward strain, Brave barks! — in light, in darkness too! Through winds and tides one compass guides : To that and your own selves be true. But O blithe breeze ! and O great seas ! Though ne'er that earliest parting past. On your wide plain they join again ; Together lead them home at last. One port, methought, alike they sought — One purpose hold where'er they fare ; O bounding breeze, O rushing seas. At last, at last, unite them there ! Arthur Hugh Clough. 466 MEETING AND PARTING. The gray sea, and the long black land ; And the yellow half-moon, large and low ; And the startled little waves, that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep, As I gain the cove with pnshing prow. And quench its speed in the slushy sand. Then a mile of warm, sea-scented beach ; Three fields to cross, till a farm appears ; A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch And blue spirt of a lighted match ; And a voice less loud, tlirough its joys and fears. Than the two hearts, beating each to each ! Round the cape, of a sudden, came the sea. And the sun looked over the mountain's rim — And straight was a path of gold for him. And the need of a world of men for me ! Robert Browning. 467 FAREWELL! BUT WHENEVER YOU W^ELCOME THE HOUR. Farewei.l ! but whenever you welcome the hour That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower, Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too, And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you. His griefs may return — not a hope may remain Of the few that have brightened his pathway of pain ; But he ne'er will forget the short vision that threw Its encliantment around him while lingering with you. And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up To the highest top-sparkle each heart and each cup, Where'er my path hes, be it gloomy or bright, My soul, happy friends! shall be with you that night — Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles. And return to me beaming all o'er with your smiles : Too blest if it tells me that, 'mid the gay cheer, Some kind voice had murmured, " I w^ish he w^ere here ! " Let Fate do her worst ! there are relics of joy. Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy — Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care. And bring back the features that joy used to w^ear. Long, long be my heart with such memories filled ! Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled : You may break, you may ruin, the vase if you will. But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. Thomas Moore. 46S AS I LAY A-THINKING. As I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-tliinking, Merry sang the Bird as she sat upon the spray : There came a noble Knight With his hanberk shining bright, And his gallant heart was light — Free and gay ; And as I lay a-thinking, he rode upon his way. As I la}^ a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking, Sadly sang the Bird as she sat upon the tree : There seemed a crimson plain, Where a gallant Knight lay slain, And a steed with broken rein Ran free : As I lay a-thinking — most pitiful to see ! As I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking. Merry sang the Bird as she sat upon the bough : A lovely Maid came by. And a gentle Youth was nigh, And he breathed many a sigh, And a vow ; As 1 lay a-thinking — her heart was gladsome now. As I lay a-thinking, a-thiid^ing, a-thinking. Sadly sang the Bird as she sat upon the thoni : No more a Youth was there, But a Maiden rent fier hair, 469 AS I LAY A-THINKING. And cried in sad despair, " That I was born ! " As I lay a-tliinking, she perished forlorn. As I lay a-thinkinff, a-thinking, a-thinkino;, Sweetly sang the Bird as she sat upon the brier : There came a lovely Child, And his face was meek and mild, Yet joyously he smiled On his sire : As I lay a-thinking — a cherub might admire. But as I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking. And sadly sang the Bird as it perched upon a bier, That joyous smile was gone. And the face Avas white and wan. As the down upon the swan Doth appear : As I lay a-thinking, oh ! bitter flowed the tear ! As I lay a-thinking, the golden sun was sinking — Oh ! merry sang that Bird as it glittered on her breast With a thousand gorgeous dyes, While, soaring to the skies, 'Mid the stars she seemed to rise, As to her nest. As I lay a-thinking, her meaning was exprest : " Follow, follow me away I It boots not to delay : " ('T was so she seemed to say) " Here is rest ! " Richard Harris Barham. 470 ADIEU. Let time and chance combine, combine, Let time and chance combine ; The fairest love from heaven above, That love of yours was mine. My Dear — That love of yours was mine. The past is fled and gone, and gone, The past is fled and gone ; If naught but pain to me remain, I '11 fare in memory on. My Dear — • I '11 fare in memory on. The saddest tears must fall, must fall, The saddest tears must fall ; Li weal or woe, in this world below, I love you ever and all. My Dear — I love you ever and all. A long road, full of pain, of pain, A long road full of pain : One soul, one heart, sworn ne'er to part We ne'er can meet again. My Dear — "We ne'er can meet again. 471 WHEN YOUR BEAUTY APPEARS. Hard fate will not allow, allow, Hard fate will not allow ; We blessed were as the angels are — Adieu forever now. My Dear ! — Adieu forever now ! Thomas Carlylk WHEN YOUR BEAUTY APPEARS. When your beauty appears, In its graces and airs, All bright as an angel new-dropt from the skies, At distance I gaze, and am awed by my fears — So strangely you dazzle my eyes ! But when without art Your kind thoughts you impart, When your love runs in blushes through every vein. When it darts from your eyes, when it pants at your heart Then I know that you 're woman again. '' There 's a passion and pride In our sex," she replied : "' And thus (might I gratify both) I would do — Still an angel appear to each lover beside. But still be a woman for you." Thomas Parnei.i. 4 72 SHE IS NOT FAIR. She is not fair to outward view, As many maidens be : Her loveliness I never knew Until she smiled on me ; O then, I saw her eye was bright — A Avell of love, a spring of light ! Bat now her looks are coy and cold : To mine they ne'er reply ; And yet I cease not to behold The love-light in her eye. Her very frowns are better far Than smiles of other maidens are. Hartley Coi-KiiiixiK THE TIGEIi. Tiger ! tioer ! burnino- brioht. In the forest of the nioht. What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry ? In what distant deeps or skies Burned the ardor of thine eyes ? J J J 4 7;j THE SEA-FIGHT. On what wings dare he aspire ? What the hand dare seize the fire ? And what slioulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart ? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand forged thy dread feet ? What tlie liammer ? what the chain ? In what furnace was thy brain ? Wliat the anvil ? What dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp ? When. the stars threw down their spears. And watered heaven with their tears, Did God smile his work to see ? Did He who made the lamb make thee? Tiger ! tiger ! burning bright, In the forest of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry ? VViLLiAM Blake. THE SEA-FIGHT. Ah, yes — the fight ! Well, messmates, well ! I served aboard that Ninety-eight ; Yet what I saw I loathe to tell. To-night, be sure a crushing weight 474 THE SEA-FIGHT. Upon my sleeping breast, a hell Of dread, will sit. At any rate, , Though land-locked here, a watch I '11 keep. Grog cheers us still. Wiio cares for sleep? That Ninety-eight 1 sailed aboard. Along the Frenchman's coast we flew ; Right aft the rising tempest roared ; A noble first-rate hove in view ; And soon high in the gale there soared Her streamed-out bunting — -red, white, blue! We cleared for fight, and landward bore, To i^et between the chase and shore. Masters, I cannot spin a yarn Twice laid with words of silken stuff*. A fact 's a fact ; and ye may larn The rights o' this, though wild and rough My words may loom. 'T is your consarn, Not mine, to understand. Enough : — We neared the Frenchman where he lay, And as we neared, he blazed away. We tacked, hove to ; we filled, we wore : Did all that seamanship could do To rake him aft, or by the fore — Now rounded off, and now broached to ; And now our starboard broadside bore. And showers of iron throuo-h and throuo-h His vast hull hissed ; our larboard then Swept from his threefold decks his men. 475 THE SEA-FIGHT As we, like a huge serpent, coiled, And wound about, through that wild sea. The Frenchman each manoeuvre foiled — 'Vantage to neither there could be. Whilst thus the waves between us boiled, We both resolved rioht manfullv To fight it side by side : — Began Then the fierce strife of man to man. Gun bellows forth to gun, and Pain Rings out her wild, delirious scream ! Redoubling thunders shake the main. Loud crashing, falls the shot-rent beam. The timbers with the broadsides strain. The slippery decks send up a steam From hot and living blood ; and high And shrill is heard the death-pang cry. The shredded limb, the splintered bone, Th' unstifFened corpse, now block the way Who now can hear the dying groan ? The trumpet of the Judgment Day, Had it pealed forth its mighty tone, We should not then have heard — to say Would be rank sin ; but this I tell, That could alone our madness quell. Upon the forecastle I fought As captain of the for'ad gun. A scattering shot the carriage caught ! What mother then had known her son 476 THE SEA-FIGHT. Of those who stood around? — Distraught, And smeared with gore, about they run Then fall, and writhe, and howling die ! But one escaped. That one was I ! Night darkened round, and the storm pealed. To windward of us lay the foe. As he to leeward over keeled. He could not fight his guns helow ; So just was going to strike — when reeled Our vessel, as if some vast blow 477 THE SEA-FIGHT. From an Almighty hand had rent The huge ship from her element. Then howled the thunder. Tumult then Had stunned herself to silence. Round Were scattered lightning-blasted men ! Our mainmast went. All stifled, drowned, Arose the Frenchman's shout. Again The bolt burst on us — and we found Our masts all gone, our decks all riven : — Man's war mocks faintly that of Heaven ! Just then — Nay, messmates, laugh not now • As I, amazed, one minute stood Amidst that rout — I know not how — 'T was silence all — the raving flood. The guns that pealed from stern to bow, And God's own thunder — nothing could I then of all that tumult hear. Nor see au2;ht of that scene of fear. My aged mother at her door Sat mildly o'er her humming wheel ; The cottage, orchard, and the moor — I saw them plainly all. I '11 kneel. And swear I saw them ! Oh, they wore A look all peace ! Could I but feel Again that bliss that then I felt. That made my heart, like childhood's, melt! The blessed tear was on my cheek — She smiled with that old smile I know : 4 78 THE SEA-FIGHT Turn to me, mother ! turn and speak ! " Was on my qnivering lips — when lo All vanished, and a dark, red streak Glared wild and vivid from the foe, That flashed upon the blood-stained water ; For fore and aft the flames had caught her. She struck, and hailed us. On us fast, All burning, helplessly, she came — Near, and more near ; and not a mast Had we to help us from that flame. 'T was then the bravest stood aghast ; 'T was then the wicked, on the name (With danger and with guilt appalled). Of God, too long neglected, called. The eddying flames with ravening tongue Now on our ship's dark bidwarks dash — We almost touched ; when ocean rung Down to its depths with one loud crash ! In heaven's top vault one instant hung The vast, intense, and blinding flash ! Then all was darkness, stillness, dread — The wave moaned o'er the valiant dead. She 's gone ! blown up ! that gallant foe ! And though she left us in a plight, We floated still ; long were, I know, And hard, the labors of that night To clear the wreck. At length in tow A frigate took us, when 't was light ; 479 TO PERILLA. And soon an English port we gained — A bulk all battered and blood-stained. So many slain — so many drowned ! 1 like not of that fight to tell. Come, let the cheerful groo; o;o round ! Messmates, I 've done. A spell, ho ! spell ^ Though a pressed man, I 'II still be found To do a seaman's duty well. I wish our brother landsmen knew One half we jolly tars go through. Anonymous. TO PERILLA. Ah, my Perilla ! dost thou grieve to see Me, day by day, to steal away from thee ? Age calls me hence, and my gray hairs bid come. And haste away to mine eternal home. 'T wnll not be long, Perilla, after this That I must give thee the supremest kiss. Dead when I am, first cast in salt; and bring Part of the cream from that religious spring, With which, Perilla, wash my hands and feet. That done, then w^ind me in that very sheet Which wrapt thy smooth limbs when thou didst implore The gods' protection, but the night before. Follow me, weeping, to my turf; and there Let fall a primrose, and w^th it a tear. 480 / / ON THE DEATH OF THE POET DRAKE. Then lastly, let some weekly strewings be Devoted to the memory of me : Then shall my ghost not walk about, but keep Still, in the cool and silent shades of sleep. Robert HERurcK. OK THE DEATH OF THE POET DRAKE. Green be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days ! None knew thee but to love thee. Nor named thee but to praise. Tears fell when thou wert dying, From eyes unused to weep ; And long where thou art lying Will tears the cold turf steep. When hearts whose truth was proven, Like thine, are laid in earth, There should a wreath be woven To tell the world their worth ; And I, who woke each morrow To clasp thy hand in mine. Who shared thy joy and sorrow, Whose weal and woe were thine — It should be mine to braid it Around thy faded brow ; 481 THE BEGGAR'S COURAGE. But I 've in vain essayed it, And feel I cannot now. While memory bids me weep thee, Nor thouMits nor words are free : The grief is fixed too deeply That mourns a man like thee. Fitz-Greene Halleck'. THE BEGGAR'S COURAGE. To heaven approached a Sufi saint. From groping in the darkness late. And, tapping timidly and faint. Besought admission at God's gate. Said God, " Who seeks to enter here ? " " 'T is I, dear Friend ! " the saint replied, And trembled much with hope and fear. " If it be thou^ without abide." Sadly to earth the poor saint turned. To bear the scouro-ino- of life's rods ; But aye his heart within him yearned To mix and lose its love in God's. He roamed alone through weary years, By cruel men still scorned and mocked, Until from faith's pure fires and tears Again he rose, and modest knocked. 482 THE HAPIT LIFE. Asked God, '' VVlio now is at tlie door ? " ''It is TJiyself, beloved Lord!" Answered the saint — in doubt no more, But clasped and rapt in his reward. DscHELLALKDDiN RuMi, (Persian.) Translation of William Roumsevillk Algek. THE HAPPY LIFE. How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will, Whose armor is his honest thought. And simple truth his utmost skill ! Whose passions not his masters are, Whose soul is still prepared for death — Untied unto the worldly care Of public fame or private breath ; Who envies none that chance doth raise. Or vice ; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise ; Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; Who hath his life from humors freed ; Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make accusers great ; 483 SONNET: ON HIS BLINDNESS. Who God doth late and early pray More of His grace than gifts to lend ; And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend : Tliis man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall — Lord of himself, though not of lands ; And, having nothing, yet hath all. SiK Henry Wotton. SONNET: ON HIS BLINDNESS. When I consider how my liglit is spent. Ere half my days in this dark world and wide ; And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and pi-esent My true account, lest he, returning, chide — •' Doth God exact day-labor, light denied ? ' I fondly ask ; but Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies : " God doth not need Either man's work, or his own gift ; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best ; his state Is kingly ; thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest ; They also serve who only stand and, wait." John Milton. 484 DIRGE. If thou wilt ease thine heart Of love, and all its smart — Then sleep, clear, slee)) ! And not a sorrow Hang any tear on your eyelashes. Lie still and deep, Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes The rim o' the sun to-morrow, In eastern sky. But wilt thou cure thine heart Of love, and all its smart — Then die, dear, die ! 'T is deeper, sweeter. Than on a rose-bank to lie dreaming With folded eye ; And then alone, amid the beaming Of Love's stars, thou 'It meet her In eastern sky. Thomas Lovell Beddofs. MY RIVER. KiVER ! my River, in the young sunshine ! Oh, clasp afresh in thine embrace This longing, burning frame of mine. And kiss my breast, and kiss my face I 4 So MY RIVER. So, there ! — Ha, ha ! — already in thine arms, I feel thy love, I shout, I shiver ! But thou out-laughest loud a flouting song, proud River ; And now again my bosom warms. The droplets of the golden sun-light glide Over and off me, sparkling, as I swim Hither and thither down thy mellow tide. Or loll amid its crypts with outstretched limb. I fling abroad mine arms, and lo ! Thy wanton waves curl slyly round me ; But ere their loose chains have well bound me, Again they burst away, and let me go. sun-loved River ! wherefore dost thou hum. Hum, hum alway, thy strange, deep, mystic song Unto the rocks and strands? — for they are dumb. And answer nothino; as thou flowest alono;. Why singest so, all hours of night and day ? Ah, River ! my best River ! thou, I guess, art seeking Some land wliere souls have still the gift of speaking With Nature, in her own old, wondrous way. Lo ! highest heaven looms far below me here ; I see it in thy waters, as they roll : So beautiful, so blue, so clear — 'T would seem, O River mine, to be thy very soul ! Oh ! could I hence dive down to such a sky. Might I but bathe my spirit in that glory, So far out-shining all in ancient fairy story, 1 would, indeed, have joy to die. 486 LOVE NOT iME. What, on cold eartli, is deep as thou ? Is aught ? Love is as deep, Love only is as deep. Love lavisheth all ; yet loseth, lacketh, naught. Like thee, too. Love can neitlier pause nor sleep. Roll on, thou loving River, then ! Lift up Thy waves — those eyes, bright with a riotous laughing ! Thou makest me immortal. I am quaffing The wine of rapture from no earthly cup. At last thou bearest me, with soothing tone, Back to thy bank of rosy flowers : Thanks then, and fare thee well ! — enjoy thy bliss alone ; And through the year's melodious hours Echo forever, from thy bosom broad. All glorious tales that sun and moon be telling; And woo down to their soundless fountain-dwelling The holy stars of God ! Eduard Moekike (German). Translation of James Clarence Mangan. LOVE NOT ME. Love not me for comely grace. For my pleasing eye or face. Nor for any outward part ; No, nor for my constant heart : For those may fail, or turn to il So thou and I shall sever. 487 PHILIP, MY KING. Keep therefore a tme woman's eye, And love me still, but know not wliy : So bast tbou tbe same reason still To doat upon me ever. Anonymous. ■~\ "- kx PHILIP, MY KING. Look at me witb thy large brown eyet Pliilip, my King! 488 PHILIP, MY KING. For round thee the purple sliadow lies Of* babyhood's regal dignities. Lay on my neck thy tiny hand, With Love's invisible sceptre laden : I am thine Esther, to command Till thou shalt find thy queen-handmaiden, Philip, my King ! O, the day when thou goest a-wooing, Philip, my King ! When those beautiful lips are suing. And, some gentle heart's bars undoing. Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there Sittest all glorified ! — rule kindly. Tenderly, over thy kingdom fair ; For we that love, ah ! we love so blindly, Philip, my King I I gaze from tliy sweet mouth up to thy brow, Philip, my King ! Ay ! there lies the spirit, all sleeping now. That may rise like a giant, and make men bow As to one God-throned amid his peers. My Saul ! than thy brethren higher and fairer Let me behold thee in coming years. Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer, Philip, my King — A wreath, not of gold, but palm. One day, Philip, my King ! Thou too must tread, as we tread, a way LLL 480 THE GIFTS OF GOD. Thorny, and bitter, and cold, and gray ; Rebels within thee, and toes withont, Will snatch at thy crown. But go on, glorio\isj Martyr, yet monarch ! till angels shout, As thou sit'st at tlie feet of" God victorious, Philip, the King ! Dinah Makta Muloch. THE GIFTS OF GOD. When God at first made man. Having a glass of blessings standing by, " Let us," said He, " pour on him all we can ; Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, Contract into a s])Mn." So strength first made a way ; Then beauty flowed ; then wisdom, honor, pleasure. When almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure. Rest in the bottom lay. "For if I should," said He, . '' Bestow this jewel also on my creature, He M^ould adore my gifts instead of me, And rest in Nature — not the God of Nature: So both should losers be. 490 thp: hymn of damascenus. " Yet let him keej) tlie rest, Bat keep them with rej)ining restlessness ; Let him be rich and weary — that, at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him, to my breast." George Herweht. THE HYMN OF DAMASCENUS. From my li])s in their defilement, From mv heart in its beouilement, From my tongue which speaks not fair, From my soul stained everywhere — O my Jesus, take my prayer ! Spurn me not, for all it says : Not for words, and not for ways. Not for shamelessness indued ! Make me brave to speak my mood, my Jesus, as 1 would ! Or teacli me, wliich J rather seek. What to do and what to speak. 1 have sinned more than she Who, learning where to meet with Thee, And bringing myrrh the higliest priced. Anointed bravely, from her knee, Thv blessed feet accordingly — My (iod, my Lord, my (Christ! 491 THE HyM:N^ OF DAJMASCENUS. As Thou saidest not ^'Depart!" To that suppliant from hei' heart, Scorn me not, O Word, that art The gentlest one of all words said ! But give Thy feet to me instead, That tenderly I may them kiss, And clasp them close ; and never miss, With over-dropping tears, as free And precious as that myrrh could be, T' anoint them bravely from my knee ! Wash me with thy tears I draw nigh me, That their salt may purify me ! Thou remit my sins, who knowest All the sinning, to the lowest — Knowest all my wounds, and seest All the stripes Thyself decreest. Yea, but knowest all my faith, Seest all my force to death, Hearest all my wailings low That mine evil should be so ! Nothing hidden but appears In Thy knowledge, C) Divine, O Creator, Saviour mine ! — Not a drop of falling tears, Not a breath of inward moan. Not a heart-beat — which is gone ! St. Joannes Damascenus. (Greek.) Translation of Elizabeth Barrett BRt>wNiM MARIAN'S SONG. Might stir my sleepe^r's tranquil trance, Or plague liis painless countenance ; I would not any Seer might place His staff on my immortal's face, Or lip to lip, and eye to eye. Charm back his pale mortality: No, Shunammite ! I would not break God's quiet. Let them weep who wak For Charlie's sake my lot is blest : No comfort like his mother's breast. No praise like hers ; no charm exprest In fairest forms liath half her zest. For Charlie's sake this bird 's carest That Death left lonely in the nest. For Charlie's sake my heart is drest, As for its birthday, in its best. For Charlie's sake we leave the rest To Him who gave, and who did take. And saved us twice — for Charlie's sake. John Willi amsox Palmkk. MARIAN'S SONG. Df^EPEK than the hail can smite. Deeper than the frost can bite, Deep asleep through day and night — Our delight ! 5. so MATIN HYMN. Now thy sleep no pang can break. No to-morrow bid thee wake — Not our sobs, who sit and ache For thy sake. Is it dark or Ho-ht below ? O, but is it cold like snow ? Dost thou feel the green things grow, Fast or slow? Is it warm or cold beneath ? O, but is it cold like death ? Cold like death without a breatli — Cold like death. ChUISTINA G. KoSSETTf. MATIN HYMN. J CANNOT ope mine eyes But Thou art ready there, to catch My morning soul and sacrifice ; Then we must needs for that day make a match. My God, what is a heart ? Silver, or gold, or precious stone ? Or star, or rainbow ? or a part Of all these things, or all of them in one ? My God, what is a heart? That thou shouldst it so eye and woo, 531 THE GENTLE SOUL. Pouring iipcii it all tliine art, As if that Thou hadst nothino; else to do ? Indeed, man's whole estate Amounts (and richly) to serve Thee. He did not heaven and earth create ; Yet studies them, not Him by whom they be. Teach me Thy love to know, That this new light which now I see May both the work and Workman show : Then by a sunbeam I will climb to TJiee. George Herbert. THE GENTLE SOUL. Ye gentle souls ! ye love-devoted fair I Who, passing by, to Pity's voice incline, O stay awhile and hear me ! then declare If there was ever grief that equals mine. There was a woman to whose sacred breast Faith had retired, where Honor fixed his throne ; Pride, though upheld by Virtue, she represt : Ye gentle souls ! that woman was my own. Beauty was more than beauty in her face ; Grace was in all she did, in all she said — In sorrow as in pleasure there was grace : Ye gentle souls I that gentle soul is fled. Francesco Redi. (Italian.; Translation of Walter Savage Landor. 532 TO KEEP A TRUE LENT. Is this a fast : to keep The larder lean, And clean From fat of veals and sheep ? Is it to quit the dish Of flesh, yet still To fill The platter high with fish ? Is it to fast an hour? Or ragged to go ? Or show A downcast look, and sour ? No ! 't is a fast to dole Thy sheaf of wheat, And meat, Unto the hungry soul. It is to fast from strife. From old debate And hate — To circumcise thy life. 533 THE EMIGRANTS. To show a heart grief-rent : To starve thy sin, Not bin — And that 's to keep thy lent. Robert Heriuck. THE EMIGRANTS. I CANNOT take my eyes away From you, ye busy, busthng band ! Your little all to see you lay. Each, in the waiting seaman's hand. Ye men, who from your necks set down The heavy basket on the earth. Of bread from German corn, baked brown By German wives on German hearth I And you, with braided queues so neat, Black-Forest maidens, slim and brow^n, How careful on the sloop's green seat You set your pails and pitchers down ! Ah ! oft have home's cool, shady tanks These pails and pitchers filled for you ! On far Missouri's silent banks Sh:ill these the scenes of home renew : The stone-rimmed fount in village street. That, as ye stooped, betrayed your smiles 534 tup: p:migrant's. The liearth, and its familiar seat ; The mantel and the pictured tiles. Soon, in the far and wooded West, Shall log-house walls therewith be graced ; Soon many a tired, tawny guest Shall sweet refreshment from them taste. From them shall drink the Cherokee, Faint with the hot and dusty chase 535 TO THE NIGHTINGALE. No more from German vintacre ye Shall bear them home, in leaf-crowned grace. O say, why seek ye other lands ? The Neckar's vale hath wine and corn ; Full of dark firs the Schwarzwald stands ; In Spessart rings the Alp-herd's horn. Ah ! in strange forests how ye '11 yearn For the green mountains of your home — To Deutschland's yellow wheat-fields turn, In spirit o'er her vine-hills roam ! How will the form of days grown pale In golden dreams float softly by ! Like some unearthly, mystic tale, 'T will stand before fond memory's eye. The boatman calls ! — Go hence in peace ! God bless ye, man and wife and sire ! Bless all your fields with rich increase. And crown each true heart's pure desire ! Ferdinand Freiligkath. (German.) Translation of Charles T. Brooks. TO THE NIGHTINGALE. O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray "Warblest at eve, wlien all the woods are still ! Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May. 536 THE DWINA. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend success in love. 0, if Jove's will Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay. Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh ; As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why. Whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I. JoHX Milton. THE DWINA. Stony-browed Dwina, thy face is as flint ! Horsemen and wacrons cross, scorino- no dint : Cossacks patrol thee, and leave thee as hard ; Camp-fires but blacken and spot thee, like pard ; For the dead, silent river lies rigid and still Down on thy sedgy banks picket the troops, Scaring the night-wolves with carols and whoops ; Crackle their fagots of drift-wood and hay. And the steam of their pots fills the nostrils of day ; But the dead, silent river lies rigid and still Sledges pass sliding from hamlet to town : Lovers and comrades — and none doth he drown! RRR 537 THE DWINA. Harness-bells tinkling in musical glee, For to none comes the sorrow that came nnto me ; And the dead, silent river lies rigid and still. I go to the Dwina ; I stand on his wave, Where Ivan, my dead, has no grass on his grave : Stronger than granite that coffins a Czar, Solid as pavement, and polished as spar — Where tlie dead, silent river hes rigid and still. Stronger than granite ? Nay, falser than sand ! Fatal the clasp of thy slippery hand ; Cruel as vulture's the clutch of thy claws ; Who shall redeem from the merciless jaws Of the dead, silent river, so rigid and still ? Crisp lay the new-fallen snow on thy breast. Trembled the white moon through haze in the west ; Far in the thicket the wolf-cub was howling, Down by the sheep-cotes the wolf-dam was prowling ; And the dead, silent river lay rigid and still : When Ivan, my lover, my husband, my lord, Lightly and cheerily stept on the sward — Light with his hopes of the morrow and me, That the reeds on the margin leaned after to see ; But the dead, silent river lay rigid and still. O'er the fresh snow-fall, the winter-long frost. O'er the broad Dwina the forester crost : 538 THE DWINA. Snares at his girdle, and gun at his side, Game-bag weighed heavy with gifts for his bride : And the dead, silent river lay rigid and still — Rigid and silent, and crouching for prey. Crouching for him who went singing his way. Oxen were stabled, and sheep were in fold ; But Ivan was struggling in torrents ice-cold, 'Neath the dead, silent river, so rigid and still. Home he came never. We searched by the ford : Small was the fissure that swallowed my lord ; Glassy ice-sheetings had frozen above — A crystalline cover to seal up my love. In the dead, silent river, so rigid and still. Still by the Dwina my home-torches burn ; Faithful T watch for my bridegroom's return. When the moon sparkles on hoar-frost and tree, I see my love crossing the Dwina to me. O'er the dead, silent river, so rigid and still. Alwavs a])])r()aching, he never arrives. Howls the northeast wind, the dusty snow drives. Sna))ping like touchwood, I hear the ice crack — And my lover is drowned in the water-hole black, 'Neath the dead, silent river, so rigid and still. CorxTESs Ort,off. (Russian.) Translation of Mhs. Ogilvik. n'Mi SONG OF FAIRIES. We the fairies, blithe and antic, Of dimensions not gigantic. Though the moonshine mostly keep us, Oft in orchards frisk and peep us. Stolen sweets are always sweeter ; Stolen kisses much completer; Stolen looks are nice in chapels : Stolen, stolen be your apples. When to bed the world are bobbing. Then 's the time for orchard-robbingr ; Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling Were it not for stealing, stealino;. Thomas Randolph. (Latin.) Translation of Leigh Hunt. SIR PETER. In his last bin Sir Peter lies, Who knew not what it was to frown ; Death took him mellow, by surprise. And in his cellar stopped him dow^n. Through all our land we could not boast A knight more gay, more prompt than he To rise and fill a bumper toast. And pass it round with " Three times Three ! " AEMSTRONG'S GOOD-NIGHT. None better knew the feast to sway, Or keep mirth's boat in better trim ; For Nature had but Httle clay Like tliat of which she moulded him. The meanest guest that graced his board Was there the freest of the free, His bumper toast wlien Peter poured And passed it round with " Three times Three ! " He kept at true good humor's mark The social flow of pleasure's tide ; He never made a brow look dark. Nor caused a tear but when he died. No sorrow round his tomb should dwell : More pleased his gay old ghost would be. For funeral song and passing bell. To hear no sound but '^ Three times Three ! " Thomas Love Peacock. ARMSTRONG'S GOOD-NIGHT. This night is my departing night, For here nae langer must I stay ; There 's neither friend nor foe o' mine But wishes me away. What I have done thro' lack o* wit 1 never, never can recall. I hope ye 'i-e a' my fi'ieiids as yet : Good-night ! And joy be wi" you all ! Anonymous. .S41 THE LEGEND OF THE STEPMOTHER. I. As I lay asleep, as I lay asleep, Under the grass as I lay so deep, As I lay asleep in my cotton sirk Under the shade of Our Lady's kh'k, I wakened up in the dead of night, I wakened up in my death-sirk white, And I heard a cry from far away. And I knew the voice of my daughter May : " Mother, mother, come hither to me ! Mother, mother, come hither and see ! Mother, mother, mother dear, Another mother is sitting here. My body is bruised, and in pain I cry ; On straw in the dark afraid I lie ; I thirst and hunger for drink and meat ; And, mother, mother, to sleep were sweet I " I heard the cry, though my grave was deep, And awoke from sleep, awoke from sleep. II. I awoke from sleep, I awoke from sleep : Up I rose from my grave so deep ! The earth was black, but overhead The stars were yellow, the moon was red ; And I walked along, all white and thin, And hfted the latch and entered in, 542 THE LEGEND OF THE STEPMOTHER. And reached the chamber as dark as night, And though it was dark my face was white : " Mother, mother, I look on thee ! Mother, mother, you frighten me ! For your cheeks are thin and your liair is gray ! But I smiled, and kissed her fears away ; I smoothed lier hair and I sang a song, And on my knee I rocked her long : " O mother, mother, sing low to me ; I am sleepy now, and I cannot see ! " I kissed her, but I could not weep ; And she went to sleep, she went to sleep. III. As we lay asleep, as we lay asleep. My May and I, in our grave so deep. As we lay asleep in the midnight mirk, Under the shade of Our Lady's kirk, I wakened up in the dead of night. Though May my daughter lay warm and white ; And I heard tlie cry of a little one. And I knew 't was the voice of Hugh my son : " Mother, mother, come hither to me ! Mother, mother, come hither and see ! Mother, mother, mother dear, Another mother is sitting here. My body is bruised and my heart is sad ; But I speak my mind, and call them bad. I thirst and hunger night and day, And were T strong I would fly away ! " fi48 THE LEGEND OF THE STEPMOTHER. I heard the cry, though my grave was deep, And awoke from sleep, and awoke from sleep. IV. I awoke from sleep, I awoke from sleep : Up I rose from my grave so deep ! The earth was black, but overhead The stars were yellow, the moon was red ; And I walked along, all white and thin, And lifted the latch and entered in : " Mother, mother, and art thou here ? I know your face, and I feel no fear. Raise me, mother, and kiss my cheek. For O, I am weary and sore and weak ! " I smoothed his hair with a mother's joy, And he laughed aloud, my own brave boy I I raised and held him on my breast. Sang him a song, and bade him rest : '' Mother, mother, sing low to me — I am sleepy now, and I cannot see ! " I kissed him, and I could not weep. As he went to sleep, as he went to sleep. V. As I lay asleep, as 1 lay asleep. With my girl and boy in my grave so deep, As I lay asleep I awoke in fear — AAvoke, but awoke not my children dear. And heard a cry so low and weak From a tiny voice tliat could not speak ; 544 THE LEGEND OF THE STEPMOTHER. I heard the _cry of a httle one, My bairn tliat could neither talk nor run — My little, little one, uncaressed, Starving for lack of the milk of the breast ! And I rose from sleep and entered in, And found my little one pinched and thin. And crooned a song and hushed its moan, And put its lips to my white breast-bone ; And the red, red moon that lit the place Went white to look at the little face ; And I kissed and kissed, and I could not weep, As it went to sleep, as it went to sleep. VI. As it lay asleep, as it lay asleep, I set it down in the darkness deep. Smoothed its limbs and laid it out. And drew the curtains around about ; Then into the dark, dark room I hied Where he lay awake at the woman's side ; And thouoh the chamber was black as night He saw my face, for it was so white. I gazed in his eyes, and he shrieked in pain, And I knew he would never sleep again ; And back to my o-rave went silently. And soon my baby was brought to me. My son and daughter beside me rest, My little baby is on my breast ; Our bed is warm and our grave is deep — But he cannot sleep, he cannot slee)) ! lloHKRT Buchanan. 8SS 545 m>, THE KNIGHT'S TOMIi Where is the orrave of Sir Artliur O'Kellyn r Where may the grave of tliat good man By the side of a spring on the breast of Helve] Under tlie twigs of a young bircli-tree. The oak tliat in summer was sweet to hear, And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year, And whistled and roared in the winter alone. Is gone, and the birrh in its stead inxs grown. 546 be? Ivn, KULNASATZ, MY REINDEER. The knitrlit's bones are dust, And his good sword rust ; His soul is witli the saints, I trust. HaMUEL TaYLUH CoLKUIlXil. KULI^ASATZ, MY REINDEER. Kui.NASATZ, my reindeer, We liave a h:)no- journey to go ; The moors are vast, And we must liaste. Our streup-tli, I fear, Will fail if we are slow : And so Our songs will, too. Kaige, the watery moor. Is ])leasant unto me. Though long it be. Since it doth to my misti'ess lead Whom I adore ; The Kilwa moor I ne'er again will tread. Thoughts filled my mind. Whilst I through Kaioc passed Swift as the wind, 547 THE ROSEBUD. And my desire Winged with impatient fire : My reindeer, let us haste ! So shall we quickly end our pleasing pain — Behold my mistress there, With decent motion walking o'er the plain I Kulnasatz, ray reindeer. Look yonder ! where She washes m the lake ! See ! w^hile she swims. The water from her purer limbs New clearness take ! Anonymous. (Icelandic.) Anonymous Translation. THE ROSEBUD. When Nature tries her finest touch. Weaving her vernal wreath, Mark ye how close she veils her round, Not to be traced by sight or sound, Nor soiled by ruder breath ? Who ever saw the earliest rose First open her sweet breast ? Or, when the summer sun goes down, The first soft star in evenincr's crown Light up her gleaming crest ? 548 THE ROSEBUD. Fondly we seek the dawning bloom On features wan and fair : The gazing eye no change can trace ; But look away a little space — Then turn — and lo ! 't is there. But there 's a sweeter flower than e'er Blushed on the rosy spray, A brighter star, a richer bloom, Than e'er did western heaven illume At close of summer day. 'T is love, the last best gift of HeaA'-en — Love, gentle, holy, pure ! But, tenderer than a dove's soft eye, The searching sun, the open sky. She never could endure. Even human love will shrink from sight, Here in the coarse rude earth : How then should rash intruding glance Break in upon her sacred trance Who boasts a heavenly birth ? So still and secret is her growth, Ever the truest heart. Where deepest strikes her kindly root, For hope or joy, for flower or fruit. Least knows its happy part. 549 THE ROSEBUD. God onlv, and oood aiiwls, look Beliind the blissful screen — As when, triana[)hant o'er His woes, The Son of God by moonlight rose, By all but heaven unseen : As when the holy Maid beheld Her risen Son and Lord ; Thought hath not cok)rs half so fair That she to paint that hour may dare, In silence best adored. The crracions Dove, that brouo;lit from hea\en The earnest of our bliss. Of many a chosen witness telling. On many a happy vision dwelling. Sings not a note of this. So, truest image of the Christ, Old Israel's long-lost son, What time, with sweet foroivino- cheer, He called his conscious brethren near. Would weep with them alone : He could not trust his melting soul But in his Maker's sight ; Then why should gentle hearts and true Bare to the rude world's witherino- view Their treasure of delight. 550 UP-111L[.. No ! let tlie dainty rose awlille Her bashi'ul fragTance hide ; Rend not lier silken veil too soon, But leave her in her own soft noon To flourish and abide. John Keblk, UP-HILL. Does the road wind uj)-hill all the way "^ Yes. to the very end. Will the day's jonrney take the whole long; day ? From morn to night, my friend. But is there for the night a resting-place ? A roof for when the slow dai'k hours begin ? May not the darkness hide it from my face ? You cannot miss that iini. Shall I meet other wayfarers at niglit ? Those who have o:one before. Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? They will not keep you standing at that door. Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak ? Of labor you shall find the sum. Will there be beds for me and all who seek ? Yea, beds for all who come. CuiusTiNA (ji. RossKirr. 551 THE SENTRY. My heart, my heart is weary ; Yet merrily beams the May, And I lean against the linden, High up on the terrace gray. The town-moat far below me Runs silent and sad and blue ; A boy in a boat floats o'er it, Still fishing and whistling too. And a beautiful varied picture Spreads out beyond the flood : Fair houses, and gardens, and people. And cattle, and meadow, and wood. Young maidens are bleachino; the linen : They laugh as they go and come ; And the mill-wheel is dripping with diamonds I list to its far-away hum. And high on yon old gray castle A sentry-box peeps o'er, While a young red-coated soldier Is pacing beside the door. 552 THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US. He bandies his shining musket, Which gleams in the sunhght red ; He halts, he presents, he shoulders — I wish that he 'd shoot me dead ! Heinrioh Heine. (German.) Translation of Charles Godfrey Lelani THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US. The world is too much with us : late and soon. Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers. Little we see in nature that is ours ; We have given our hearts away — a sordid boon ! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon. The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers — For this, for everything, we are out of tune ; It moves us not. — Great God ! I 'd rather be A Pagan, suckled in a creed outworn ; So might 1, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses tliat would make me less forlorn — Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea. Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. William Wordswokiii. TTT Pack, clouds, away I and welcome, day ! With night we banish sorrow ; Sweet air, blow soft! mount, lark, aloft! To give my love good-morrow. Wings from the wind to please her mind, Notes from the lark I '11 borrow ; Bird, prune thy wing ! nightingale, sing I To give my love good-morrow : To give my love good-morrow Notes from them all I '11 borrow. Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast ! Sing, birds, in every furrow ! And from each hill let music shrill Give my fair love good-morrow. Blackbird and thrash in every bush. Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow : You pretty elves, among yourselves. Sing my fair love good-morrow ! To give my love good-morrow Sing, birds, in every furrow ! Thomas Heywood, 554 BOATMAN'S HYMN. Bark, tliat bears me through foam and squall, You in the storm are my castle-wall ! Though the sea should redden from bottom to top, From tiller to mast she takes no drop. On the tide top^ the tide top — Wherry aroon, my land and store I On the tide top, the tide top, She is the boat can sail galore ! She dresses herself, and goes gliding on. Like a dame in her robes of the Indian lawn ; For God has blessed her, gunnel and wale — And O ! if you saw her stretch out to the gale. On the tide top, the tide top — Wherry aroon, my land and store ! On the tide top, the tide top. She is the boat can sail galore ! Whillan ahoy! — Old heart of stone, Stooping so black o'er the beach alone. Answer me well : on the bursting brine Saw you ever a bark like mine. On the tide top, the tide top? Wherry aroon, my land and store ! On the tide top, the tide top. She is the boat can sail galore ! bob BOATMAN'S HYMN. Says Wliillan, Since first I was made of stone, I have looked abroad o'er the beach alone ; But, till to-day, on the bursting brine, Saw I never a bark hke thine ! On the tide top, the tide top — Wherry aroon, my land and store ! On the tide top, the tide top. She is the boat can sail galore ! ^m& -:>^-.^^ God of the air ! the seamen shout. When they see us tossing the brine about, 556 NEARER TO THEK. Give us the shelter of strand or rock, Or through and through us she goes with a sliock ! On the tide top^ the tide top — Wherry aroon^ my land and store ! On the tide top^ the tide top, She is the boat can sail galore ! Anonymous. (Irish.) Translation of Samuel Ferguson. \ NEARER TO THEE. Nearer, my God, to Thee ! Nearer to Thee ! E'en though it be a cross That raiseth me ; Still all my song shall be, Nearer, my God, to Thee ! Nearer to Thee ! Though, like a wanderer, The sun gone doAvn, Darkness be over me, My rest a stone. Yet in my dreams I 'd be Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee ! There let the way appear Steps unto heaven ; 557 THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE:. All that Thou sendest me In mercy given : Angels to beckon me Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee ! Then, with my waking thoughts Bright -with Thy praise. Out of my stony griefs Bethel I '11 raise : So by my woes to be Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee ! Or if, on joyful wing Cleaving the sky. Sun, moon, and stars forgot. Upward I fly — Still all my song shall be, Nearer, my God, to Thee! Nearer to Thee ! Sakah Flower Adams. THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE. The old mayor climbed the belfry tower. The ringers ran by two, by three : " Pull ! if ye never pulled before ; Good ringers, pull your best ! " quoth hee. 558 THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE. " Play iippe, play iippe, O Boston bells ! Ply all your changes, all your swells ! Play uppe ' The Brides of Enderby ! ' " Men say it was a stolen tyde — The Lord that sent it, He knows all ; But in myne ears doth still abide The message that the bells let fall ; And there was nouofht of strancre, beside The flights of mews and peewits pied, By millions crouched on the old sea-wall. I sat and span within the doore ; My thread brake oflP, I raised myne eyes : The level sun, like ruddy ore, Lay sinking in the barren skies ; And, dark against day's golden death, She moved where Lindis wandereth — My Sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth. " Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha ! " calling. Ere the early dews were falling, Farre away I heard her song. "Cusha! Cusha!" all along; Where the reedy Lindis floweth, Floweth, floweth, From the meads where melick groweth, Faintly came her milking song. " Cusha ! Cusha I Cusha ! " calling, " For the dews will soone be falling ; 5. 5 9 THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE. Leave your meadow grasses mellow, Mellow, mellow ! Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ! Come uppe, Whitefoot ! come uppe, Lightfoot I Quit the stalks of parsley hollow, Hollow, hollow ! Come uppe. Jetty ! rise and follow : From the clovers lift your head ! Come uppe, Whitefoot! come uppe, Lightfoot I Come iippe, Jetty ! rise and follow. Jetty, to the milking shed I " If it be long — ay, long ago — When I bemnne to think howe lonof Againe 1 hear the Lindis flow, Swift as an arrowe, sharpe and strong ; And all the aire, it seemeth mee, Bin full of floating bells (sa3^th shee), That ring the tune of Enderby. Alle fresh the level pasture lay. And not a shadowe mote be scene, Save where, full fyve good miles away. The steeple towered from out the greene. And lo ! the great bell farre and wide Was heard in all the country side, That Saturday at eventide. The swanherds, where their sedges are, Moved on in sunset's golden breath ; 'J'lie shepherde-lads I heard afarre, 560 thp: high tide on the coast of Lincolnshire. And my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth ; Till, floating o'er the grassy sea. Came downe that kyndl}^ message free, " The Brides of Mavis Enderby." Then some looked uppe into the sky, And all along where Lindis flows To where the goodly vessels lie, And where the lordly steeple shows : They sayde, " And why should this thing be ? What danger lowers by land or sea, They ring the tune of Enderby ? " For evil news from Mablethorpe, Of pyrate galleys warping down — For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe. They have not spared to wake the tovvne ; But while the west bin red to see, And storms be none, and pyrates flee, Why ring ' The Brides of Enderby ? ' " I looked without, and lo ! my sonne Came riding downe with might and main ; He raised a shout as he drew on. Till all the welkin rang a