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 SELECTED FROM MANY SOURCES, 
 
 WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS FROM ORIGINAL DESIGNS, 
 
 BY 
 
 T. MORAN, R. S. GIFFORD, MISS HALLOCK, MISS LEDYARD, 
 BOLLES, HOPPIN, McENTEE, Etc., Etc. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER AND COMPANY. 
 
 1872. 
 
fR 
 
 27 
 
 !&itered ac o on lii ^ to Ar 
 Charles ^ :: 
 in the Office of the 1 
 
 ■ 1S71, by 
 
 RIVKSSnie, CAMBKIDGE . 
 STEREOTYPED A3CD PRIXTED BY 
 
 a. a HorcHTox axd compaxy. 
 
PUBLISHEES' NOTK 
 
 Songs of the Heakt forms the third vokime of the re-issue of Folk 
 SoNGSj of which Songs of Life is the first, and Songs of Home the 
 second. The series will be completed with Songs of Nature ; and these 
 four volumes will comprise the original book, with numerous new poems and 
 additional illustrations. The comprehensiveness and completeness of each 
 volume, and its convenient size, will, it is believed, commend these selections 
 anew to the public favor. 
 
 In the present collection, Mr. Stedman's " Doorstep " first appeared in 
 "The Atlantic Monthly" (published by James R. Osgood and Company), 
 and "Making Port," " Dolly Sullivan," and "Love's Young Dream, a. d. 
 18 — ," are taken from " Scribner's Monthly." 
 
OOISTEI^TS. 
 
 The Doorstep Edmund Clarence Stednian . 
 
 Annabel Lee Ed(jar Allan Poe 
 
 The Weepen Liady William Barnes . 
 
 The Landlady's Daughter Tj-anslation of Lei and and Palmer. 
 
 Florence Vane Philip Pendleton Cooke . 
 
 Making Port , lames T, McKay . 
 
 Love Thoinas Kibble Hercetj . 
 
 ! Snatched away in Beauty's Bloom Lord Bi/ron . 
 
 The Two Villages Rose Terry . 
 
 Christmas Abraham Coles. 
 
 A Little While Horatius Bonar . 
 
 Too Late I Stayed .Robert William Spencer . 
 
 Montrose to his Mistress James Grahame, Marquis of j\fontrose. 
 
 The Poet's Bridal-Day Song Allan Cunningham . 
 
 Farewell to Nancy Robert Burns . 
 
 The Murdered Traveller William Cullen Bryant . 
 
 Madrigal Anonymous. 
 
 The Motto John R. Thomj)son . 
 
 Love Samuel Taylor Coleridge . 
 
 Lady Ann Both well's Lament Anonymous. 
 
 My Chi ld John Pier^tont . 
 
 Think of Mk Jo/m Hamilton Riyuo'ds . 
 
 Come, let us Kisse and Parte ! Michael Drayton . 
 
 The Fairest Thing in Mortal Eyes Translation of II. F. Cary . 
 
 A Di:ath-Bi:d Janus Aldrich . 
 
 Farewell! But whenever you welcome the lloiii Thomas Moore . 
 
 Jenny Kissed Me Ldtih Hunt. 
 
 Infant Joy William liUd.c . 
 
 Too Late lyniah Maria }[uloi'h . 
 
 9 
 12 
 15 
 17 
 18 
 20 
 21 
 23 
 24 
 26 
 28 
 29 
 :M 
 [VI 
 33 
 37 
 39 
 42 
 43 
 44 
 4.') 
 4b 
 47 
 48 
 48 • 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Changes Robert Bulwer Lytton . 
 
 A Health Edward Coate Pinkney . 
 
 Absence ^ Frances Kemhle Butler. 
 
 Dolly S ullivan Marian Douglas . 
 
 Adieu Thomas Carlyle . 
 
 AVhex your Beauty Appears Thomas Parnell. 
 
 To THE Unsatisfied Harriet Winslow. 
 
 Dirge in Cymbeline , William Collins. 
 
 The Dirge of Imogen Shakspeare . 
 
 York and Lancaster Anonymous . 
 
 At the Church Gate William Makepeace Thackeray. 
 
 Elegy Henry King . 
 
 To Celi A Iranslation of Ben Jonson . 
 
 Like a Poet in the Splendor Alice Cary. 
 
 The Lawlands o' Holland Anonymous. 
 
 The Flower of Beauty George Barley. 
 
 The Welcome Thomas Davis . 
 
 Unfledged Samuel W. Duffield. 
 
 The Chess-Board Robert Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 The Royal Guest Julia Ward Howe . 
 
 All's Well Margaret J. Preston . 
 
 On a Girdle Edmund Waller. 
 
 The Mother's Last Song Bryan Waller Procter. 
 
 She is a Maid of Artless Grace Translation of H. W. Longfellow. 
 
 Bea7are Translation of H. W. Longfellow. 
 
 Song Sir John Suckling . 
 
 Left Behind Florence Percy . 
 
 Take, Take, those Lips away Shakspeare and John Fletcher, 
 
 The Old Maid Amelia Ball Welby. 
 
 She is not Fair Hartley Coleridge . 
 
 Song Thomas Campbell . 
 
 The Lady's Yes Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 Thou hast Sworn by thy God, My Jeanie Allan Cunningham. 
 
 Where shall the Lover rest Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 A Musical Box W. W. Story. 
 
 The Maiden's Choice Henry Fielding. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Widow and Child Alfred Tennyson . . 
 
 Meeting and Parting RoheH Browning. . 
 
 She was a Phantom of Delight WHUam Wordsworth. . 
 
 We have been Friends Together. . . . ^ Caroline Elizabeth Norton. . 
 
 Tommy's Dead Sydney Dobell. . 
 
 Lament op the Border Widow Anonymous. . 
 
 Abou Ben Adhem Leigh Hunt . 
 
 Song Maria Brooks . . 
 
 A Dirge William Stanley Roscoe . . 
 
 Polar Days H. H. . 
 
 Love not Me Anonymous . . 
 
 Little Words Mary Elizabeth Dodge . . 
 
 Over the River Nancy Amelia Woodbury Priest. . 
 
 Daniel Gray J. G. Holland. , 
 
 The Thankless Lady . . . , George MacDonald. . 
 
 When Stars are in the Quiet Skies . .Edward Bulwer Lytton. . 
 
 At Last H.H., 
 
 DiNNA Ask Me Dunlop . , 
 
 A Spinni>g-Wheel Song John Francis Waller. . 
 
 My Love James Russell Lowell . . 
 
 Love's Young Dream ; A. D. 18 — George A. Baker, Jr. 
 
 The Might of one Fair Face Translation of Hartley Coleridge. . 
 
 To Perilla Robe7-t Herrick . 
 
 On the Death of the Poet Drake Fitz- Greene Halleck. 
 
 Arab Love Percy Bysshe Shelley . . 
 
 How's my Boy Sydney Dobell . 
 
 She's gane to dwall in Heaven lillan Cunningham . 
 
 James Melville's Child , .Mrs. A. Stuart Menteath. 
 
 To Mary in Heaven Robert Burns . 
 
 Ah, Chloris ! Sir Charles Sedley . 
 
 Sixteen Walter Savage Landor. 
 
 In vain you tell Matthew Prior. 
 
 Break, Break, Break ! Alfred Tennyson . 
 
 The ]*assage Anonymous Translation . 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTEATIOIS^S. 
 
 SUBJECT DRAWN BY ENGRAVED BY 
 
 The Doorstep Miss Hallock W. J. Linton . . 
 
 The Landlady's Daughter Nast Anthony . . 
 
 Making Port R. S. Gifford Filmer. . 
 
 The Two Villages T. Moran Annin . . 
 
 Too Late I Stayed Miss Hallock Bogert . . 
 
 The Murdered Traveller McEntee Cox . . 
 
 Think of Me Mrs. T. Moran Bogert . . 
 
 Jenny Kissed Me Hoppin Bobbett & Hooper. . 
 
 Dolly Sullivan 
 
 " You then can have choice of the men '*.. . .Miss Ledyard MacDonald. . 
 
 " Old Dolly Sullivan shook her gray head ''.Miss Ledyard MacDonald. . 
 
 At the Church Gate Bolles W. J. Linton . 
 
 The Welcome MacDonough Langridge. . 
 
 On a Girdle Hoppin Cox . . 
 
 Song 
 
 " Drink ye to her that each loves best " Wallin Anthony. . 
 
 Tail-piece Wallin Anthony . . 
 
 A Musical Box Miss Ledyard MacDonald . . 
 
 Meeting and Parting T. Moran Annin . . 
 
 Tommy's Dead Eytinge • Anthony . , 
 
 Song Miss Hallock Treat . . 
 
 Polar Days T. Moran Annin. , 
 
 When Stars are in the quiet Skies Miss Hallock Treat. . 
 
 A Spinning-Wheel Song Hennessy Bobbett & Hooper. . 
 
 Love's Young Dream; a. d. 18 — 
 
 " Yes, it's so ; report says true.'' Miss Ledyard MacDonald . . 
 
 " Sort of put up thing, you see " Miss Ledyard MacDonald . . 
 
 '* ' Mustn't flirt with her,' she said " Miss Ledyard ^MacDonald. . 
 
 1 
 8 
 12 
 18 
 23 
 29 
 42 
 47 
 
 54 
 
 56 
 64 
 
 90 
 91 
 96 
 100 
 104 
 112 
 116 
 126 
 131 
 
 135 
 136- 
 137 
 
12 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 How's MY Boy MacDonongh Kinnersley 142 
 
 James Melville's Child Elminger Hayes .... 148 
 
 Break, Break, Break ! 
 
 " On thy cold gray stones, sea \" Parsons Anthony 154 
 
 *' And the stately ships go on " Parsons Anthony 155 
 
AUTOGRAPHS. 
 
 Facf. 
 
 On the Death of the Poet Drake Halleck Title. 
 
 Florence Yane Cooke 11 
 
 The Mother's Last Song Procter 81 
 
 Aiiou Ben Adhem Hunt Ill 
 
THE DOORSTEP. 
 
 The coiiic'rcnco inoc^tino- through :it hist, 
 Wc hoys aroinid the \ostry waitcMl, 
 
 1 
 
THE DOORSTEP. 
 
 To see the girls come tripping past 
 Like snow-birds willing to be mated. 
 
 Not braver lie that leaps the wall 
 
 Bv level musket-flashes litten, 
 Than I, who stepped before them all 
 
 Who lono-ed to ' see me g-et the mitten. 
 
 But no, she blushed and took my arm ! 
 
 We let the old folks have the highway, 
 And started toward the Maple Farm 
 
 Along a kind of lovers' by-way. 
 
 I can't remember what we said, 
 
 'Twas nothing worth a song or story, 
 
 Yet that rude path by which we sped 
 Seemed all transformed and in a glory. 
 
 The snow was crisp beneath our feet, 
 
 The moon was fall, the fields were gleaming; 
 
 By hood and tippet sheltered sweet 
 
 Her face with youth and health was beaming. 
 
 The little hand outside her muflF — 
 
 O sculptor, if you could but mould it ! 
 
 So lightly touched my jacket-cuff, 
 To keep it warm I had to hold it. 
 
 To have her with me there alone — 
 
 'Twas love and fear and triumph blended : 
 
THE DOORSTEP. 
 
 At last we reached tlie foot-worn stone 
 Wliere that dehcious journey ended. 
 
 She sliook her rmglets from her hood, 
 
 And with a " Thank you, Ned," dissembled, 
 
 But yet I knew she understood 
 
 With what a daring wish I trembled. 
 
 A cloud passed kindly overhead, 
 
 The moon was slyly peeping through it. 
 
 Yet hid its face, as if it said, 
 
 " Come, now or never, do it, do it ! " 
 
 My lips till then had only known 
 
 The kiss of mother and of sister. 
 But somehow, full upon her own 
 
 Sweet, rosy, darling mouth — I kissed her ! 
 
 Perhaps 'twas boyish love, yet still, 
 
 O listless woman ! weary lover ! 
 To feel once more that fresh wild thrill, 
 
 I'd give — But who can live youtli over ? 
 
 Edmund Clarence Stedman. 
 
ANNABEL LEE. 
 
 It was many and many a year ago, 
 
 In a kingdom by tlie sea, 
 That a maiden lived, whom you may know, 
 
 By the name of Annabel Lee ; 
 And this maiden she lived w^ith 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, 
 
 ChilHng and kilUng my Annabel Lee. 
 
 4 
 
THE WEEPEN LIADY. 
 
 But our love it was stronger by far tlian the love 
 
 Of those wlio 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 brino-ino; 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 bi-ide. 
 
 In her sepulchre there by the sea. 
 
 In her tomb by the sounding sea. 
 
 Edgah Allan Pok. 
 
 THE WEEPEN LIADY. 
 
 When Hate 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, while oon da rest, 
 All lily-white, athirt the breast 
 
 O' thik ])0()r weepen liady. 
 
THE wp:epen liady. 
 
 The wliircQen win' and wliislen squall 
 Da sliiake the ivy by the wall, 
 An' miake the plyen tree-tops rock, 
 But never ruffle her white frock; 
 An' slammen door, an' rottlen lock, 
 Tliat 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, 
 
 Wiiv by a young man cast azide : 
 
 A mother zad, but not a bride ; 
 
 An' then her father, in his pride 
 An' an O'er, offered oon o' two 
 Vull bitter thino;s to undero;oo, 
 
 To thik poor weepen liady : 
 
 Tliat she herzuf shood leave his door, 
 
 To darken it agen noo muore ; 
 
 Ar that her little playsome cliile, 
 
 A-zent awoy a thousan' mile, 
 
 Shood never meet her eyes, to smile 
 An' play agen ; till she m shiame 
 Shood die, an' leave a tarnished niame; 
 A zad varziaken liady ! 
 
 " Let me be lost," she cried, " the while 
 I da but know var my poor chile ; " 
 An' left tlie huome ov all her pride, 
 To wander droo the wordle wide, 
 6 
 
THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 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-comen on, 
 To zee thik father dead an' gone ; 
 As if her 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 love. 
 An' vind a pliace o' rest above, 
 Unlik the weepen liady ! 
 
 William Barnes. 
 
 THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Three student-comrades crossed over the Rliine ; 
 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 cliamber back. 
 
 There she lay, in her coffin black ! 
 
 7 
 
THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTLU. 
 
 The first from her face the shroud-veil toolv, 
 And gazed upon her — a mournful look. 
 
 ''Ah! wert thou but livmg. thou lovelv maid, 
 I would love thee from tliis thne," he said. 
 
 The second covered the altered face, 
 
 And turned him, weeping, from the place: 
 
 '^ That tliou should'st he on tlie funeral bier, 
 Whom I have loved tliis manv a vear ! " 
 
FLORENCE VANE. 
 
 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 1 love through eternity ! " 
 
 JuiiANN LuDWiG Uiii.AXi*. ( Geniiaii.) 
 Transhitioii of C. G. Lelaxd and J. W. Palmer. 
 
 FLORENCE VANE. 
 
 I LOVED thee long and dearly, 
 
 Florence Vane ; 
 My life's bright dream and early 
 
 Hath come again ; 
 I renew, in my fond vision, 
 
 My heart's dear pain : 
 My liopes, and thy derision, 
 
 Florence Vane ! 
 
 The ruin, lone and hoary, 
 
 The ruin old. 
 Where thou didst hark my story, 
 
 At even told : 
 That s])ot, the Imes Elysian 
 
 Of sky and plain, 
 I treasure in my vision, 
 
 Florence Vane I 
 9 
 
(//^t>^ c^O^yuji, C<^oCc>fy^ j 
 
 7^ rhUA.^ £<9-y^ cc^cl A</-rc^ ^ 
 iMri'UUt. Pi^uu^iAJ dU^JUf h.Q^-/o r^ ^^^ ^ 
 
FLORENCE VANE. 
 
 Thou wast lovelier than the roses 
 
 In their prime ; 
 Thy voice excelled the closes 
 
 Of sweetest rhyme ; 
 Thy heart was as a river 
 
 Withont a main. 
 Would I had loved thee never, 
 
 Florence Vane ! 
 
 But fairest, coldest wonder I 
 
 Thy glorious clay 
 Lieth the green sod under : 
 
 Alas the day ! 
 And it boots not to remember 
 
 Thy disdain, 
 To quicken love's pale ember, 
 
 The lilies of the valley 
 
 By young graves weep ; 
 The daisies love to dally 
 
 Where maidens sleep. 
 May their bloom, in beauty vying. 
 
 Never wane 
 Where thine earthly part is lying, 
 
 Florence Vane ! 
 
 Philip Pendleton Cooke 
 
 11 
 
MAKING PORT. 
 
 All day long till the west was recL 
 Over and under the wliite-flecked blue 
 
 ' Now lay her into the Avind," lie said ; 
 And south the harbor drew. 
 
 12 
 
MAKING PORT. 
 
 And tacking west and tacking east, 
 
 Spray-showers upward going, 
 Her wake one zigzag trail of yeast, 
 
 Her gunwale fairly flowing; 
 
 All flutterous clamor overhead, 
 Lee scuppers white and spouting, 
 
 Upon the deck a stamping tread, 
 And windy voices shouting; 
 
 Her weather shrouds as viol-strings. 
 
 And leeward all a-clatter, — 
 The long, lithe schooner dips and springs ; 
 
 The waters cleave and scatter. 
 
 Shoulder to shoulder, breast to breast. 
 Arms locked, hand over hand : 
 
 Bracing to leeward, lips compressed. 
 Eyes forward to the land ; 
 
 Driving the wheel to wind, to lee, 
 
 The two men work as one. 
 Out of the southwest sweeps tlie sea ; 
 
 Low slants the summer sun. 
 
 The harbor opens wide and wide, 
 
 Draws up on either quarter ; 
 The Vineyard's low hills backward slide ; 
 
 Tlie keel finds smootlier water. 
 
 13 
 
MAKING POET. 
 
 And tacking starboard, tacking port, 
 Bows liissing, heeled to leeward, 
 
 Tlirongh craft of many a size and sort^ 
 She trails the long bay seaward. 
 
 And jibing once to wear about, — 
 The hui^hng wind drives at her ; 
 
 The lond sails flap and flutter out, 
 The sheet-blocks rasp and clatter. 
 
 A lumberman lies ftill abeam, — 
 The flow sets squarely toward her ; 
 
 AVe lose our headway in the stream 
 And drift broadside aboard her. 
 
 A sudden flurry fore and aft, 
 
 Shout, trample, strain, wind howling ; 
 A ponderous jar of craft on craft, 
 
 A boom that threatens fouling ; 
 
 A jarring slide of hull on hull. — 
 Her bowsprit sweeps our quarter. 
 
 Clang go the sheets : the jib draws fidl ; 
 Once more we cleave the water. 
 
 The anchor rattles ironi the bow, 
 The jib comes wrapping downward ; 
 
 And quiet rides tlie dripping prow, 
 Wave-lapped and pointing townward. 
 
 14 
 
LOYE. 
 
 Oh, gracious is the arching sky, 
 
 The south wind blowing blandly ; 
 The rippling white-caps fleck and fly ; 
 
 The sunset flushes grandly. 
 
 And all the charm of sea and land. 
 
 And splendid sunset glow and grace, 
 And more, I'd give to hold her hand 
 
 And look upon her face I 
 
 James T. McKay. 
 
 LOYE. 
 
 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 ancrels, \oncr aoo ! 
 
 *' By every hope that earthward clings, 
 B}'' faith that mounts on angel wings, 
 15 
 
LOVE. 
 
 By dreams that make night-sliadows bright. 
 And truths that tm^n 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 shino, 
 My soul is wedded unto thine ! " 
 
 And for its soft an<l sole reply, 
 A murmur, 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 hke 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 svmny isles. 
 
 But never came to shore ! 
 
 Thomas Kibble JiERVEv. 
 
 IG 
 
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 tlie 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 I 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 Aveep the less ? 
 
 And thou, who tell'st me to forget. 
 
 Thy looks ire wan, thine eyes are wet. 
 
 Lord Byron 
 
 17 
 
THE TWO VILLAGES. 
 
 Over the river, on tlie hill, 
 Lietli a vilbo;e Avliite and still , 
 
 IS 
 
THE TWO VILLAGES. 
 
 All around it the forest trees 
 Whisper and shiver in the breeze ; 
 Over it sailino; shadows o;o 
 Of soarino; hawk and scream in o; crow : 
 And mountain grasses, low and sweet, 
 Grow in the middle of every street. 
 
 Over the river, under the hill, 
 Another village lieth still ; 
 There I see in the cloudy night 
 Twinkling stars of household light, 
 Fires that gleam from the smithy's door. 
 Mists that curl on the river shore ; 
 And in the roads no grasses grow. 
 For the wheels tliat hasten to and fro. 
 
 In that village on the hill 
 
 Never is sound of smithy or mill ; 
 
 The houses are thatched with grass and flowers , 
 
 Never a clock to tell the hours ; 
 
 The marble doors are always shut ; 
 
 You cannot enter in hall or hut; 
 
 All the villagers lie asleep. 
 
 Never again to sow or reap, 
 
 Never in dreams to moan or sigh — 
 
 Silent, and idle, and low they lie. 
 
 In that village under tlic liill. 
 When tlie night is starry and still. 
 Many a weary heart in prayer 
 Looks to the other viHage tliere, 
 19 
 
CHRISTMAS. 
 
 And, weeping and sighing, wants to go 
 Up to that home from this below — 
 Longs to sleep in the forest wild, 
 Whither have vanished wife and child, 
 And heareth, praying, this answer fall : 
 '^ Patience! that village shall hold yon alh" 
 
 KosE Tkkky. 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Lift np your heads, ye gates ! swing wide 
 
 Ye dazzling portals of the morn ? 
 Forth let the Filial Godhead ride 
 
 On wings of cherubim up-borne. 
 
 Nor dare, thou flushed and flattered East, 
 
 The Sun of Righteousness to stay, 
 Now that the long dark night has ceased. 
 
 And souls are hungry for the day. 
 
 On mountain tops bright heralds stand 
 
 With beautiful and shining feet. 
 And publish over sea and land 
 
 The certain tidings glad and sweet. 
 
 He comes ! The sky is all on flre, 
 
 We see the bannered pomp unfurled, 
 Th' advancing splendors rushing higher. 
 To flood and overflow the world. 
 
 Abraham Coles. 
 20 
 
A LITTLE WHILE 
 
 Beyond the smiling and the weeping 
 
 I shall be soon ; 
 Beyond the waking and the sleeping, 
 Beyond the sowing and the reaping, 
 I shall be soon. 
 Love^ rest^ and home ! 
 Siveet Jiope! 
 Lord^ tarry not^ but come! 
 
 Beyond the blooming and the fading 
 
 I shall be soon ; 
 Beyond the shining and the shading, 
 Beyond the hoping and the dreading, 
 I shall be soon. 
 Love^ rest^ and home ! 
 Sweet hope! 
 Lord^ tarry not^ hut come! 
 
 Beyond the rising and the setting 
 
 I shall be soon ; 
 Beyond the calming and the fretting, 
 Beyond remembering and forgetting, 
 I shall be soon. 
 Love^ rest^ and home! 
 Siveet hope! 
 
 Lord^ tarry not^ but come! 
 21 
 
A LITTLE WHILE. 
 
 Beyond tlie gatliering and tlie strewing 
 
 I sliall be soon ; 
 Beyond tlie ebbing and the flowing, 
 Beyond the coming and the going, 
 T shall be soon. 
 Love^ rest^ and home/ 
 Siveet hope ! 
 Lord^ tarry not^ hut come! 
 
 Beyond the parting and the meeting 
 
 I shall be soon ; 
 Beyond the fore well and the greeting, 
 Beyond this pulse's fever-beating, 
 I shall be soon. 
 Love^ rest^ and home ! 
 Siveet hope! 
 Lord^ tarry not^ hut come ! 
 
 Beyond the frost-chain and the i'iixidv 
 
 I shall be soon ; 
 Beyond the rock-waste and the river, 
 Beyond the ever and the never, 
 I shall be soon. 
 Love^ rest^ and home ! 
 Sweet hope ! 
 Lord^ tarry not^ hut come! 
 
 HoUATirS BONAK 
 
TOO LATE 1 STAYED. 
 
 Too hite I stayed — forgive tlie crime; 
 
 Unlieeded flew the lioiirs : 
 Mow noiseless falls the foot of Time 
 
 That only treads on flowers ! 
 
 And who, with clear acconnt, remarks 
 The ebbings of his glass, 
 •2 a 
 
MONTROSE TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 
 When all its sands are diamond sparks, 
 That dazzle as they pass? 
 
 All I who to sober measurement 
 
 Time's happy swiftness brings, 
 When birds of paradise have lent 
 
 Tlieir plumage to his wings ? 
 
 Robert William Spp:xcer 
 
 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 fea;rs his fate too much, 
 
 Or his deserts are small. 
 Who dares not put it to the touch. 
 
 To gain or lose it all. 
 24 
 
MONTKOSE TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 
 But I will reign and govern still, 
 
 And always give tlie 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. 
 
 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 ; 
 ril serve thee in such noble wnys 
 
 As ne'er was known before ; 
 I'll deck and crown thy head with bavs, 
 
 And love thee more and more. 
 
 James G rati ami:, INIaijquis of AToxthosk. 
 
 25 
 
THE POET'S BRIDAL-DAY SONG. 
 
 O, iMY love's like tlie steadfast sun, 
 Or streams that deepen as they run ; 
 Nor hoary hairs, nor forty j^ears. 
 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 dauo-hter sweet. 
 And time and care and birthtime avoos 
 Have dimmed thine eye and touched thy rose, 
 26 
 
THE POET'S BRIDAL-DAY SONG. 
 
 To thee, and thouglits of tliee, belong 
 Wliate'er charms me in tale or song. 
 When words descend Hke dews, nnsouglit. 
 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 fruit 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 ouglit. 
 
 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. 
 
 A L L A X C U N N I N r. / 1 A M 
 
 2 7 
 
FAREWELL TO NANCY. 
 
 Ae fond kiss — and then we sever! 
 Ae fareweel — alas, forever I 
 Deep in heart-wrnns: tears I'll pledge thee : 
 Warring sighs and groans I'll wage 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. 
 
 Ill ne'er blame my partial fancy ; 
 Naething could resist my Nancy: 
 But to see her Avas to love her. 
 Love but her, and love forever. 
 Had we never loved sae kindly, 
 Had we never loved sae blindly. 
 Never met — or never parted, 
 We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 
 
 Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! 
 Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 
 Thine be ilka joy and treasure. 
 Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasiu'e ! 
 Ae fond Idss — and then we sever! 
 Ae fareweel — alas, forever! 
 Deep in he^irt-wiTing tears I'll pledge thee ; 
 Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. 
 
 ROIJEUV BUKXS. 
 
 28 
 
x_<^' 
 
 THE MURDERED TRAVELLER. 
 
 When spriiin-, to woods and wastes aiound, 
 
 Bivjii^lit bloom and jov ai^aiii, 
 The inurduivd rrawller's bones wrre fonnd. 
 
 Tar down a iia.Tow t;len. 
 •JO 
 
THE MURDERED TRAVELLER. 
 
 The fragrant 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. 
 
 30 
 
MADRIGAL. 
 
 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 Cullex Bkyaxt 
 
 MADRIGAL. 
 
 As I saw fair Chloris walk alone, 
 The feathered rain came softly down. 
 As Jove descending fi'om 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 gi'ief dissolved into a tear ; 
 Thence falling on her garment's hem. 
 To deck her, froze into a gem. 
 
 Anonymous 
 
 '31 
 
THE MOTTO. 
 
 Somebody sent me a dear little note. 
 
 The paper Avas Moinier's. the writmg was fair : 
 
 Shall 1 here tell you what somebodr wrote ? 
 Ko, — let the Muse keep the secret from air, 
 
 But this was the motto the seal had to show. 
 
 This. — •• C'est le coeur qui fait valoir les mots." 
 
 Somebody walked with me. light was her tread 
 
 Over the beautiful sunshiny wold ; 
 Shall I here tell you what somebody said ? 
 
 The sunlight has faded — tlie words have grown cold — 
 Do you believe in the motto or no, 
 C'es:. — •• ("est le cceur qui fait valoir les mots." 
 
 Somebody sang me a sweet little song. 
 
 Full of all tender, mispeakable things, 
 Shall I repeat them ? no, ever so long 
 
 They have flown otf on the swiftest of wings, 
 And the nest thev deserted is white with the snow ; 
 Ah! •• C'est le cceiir qui fait valoir les mots." 
 
 Shall I with censure link somebody's name 
 
 For the note, and the walk, and the fly-away birds ? 
 No, the dear creature was never to blame. — 
 
 She had no heart to give value to words; 
 Sweetly as Hybla her accents may flow. 
 Mais, ^'C'est le c<:eiu' qui fait valoir les mots." 
 
 John E. Thompson. 
 32 
 
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 knio-ht ; 
 She stood and listened to my lay. 
 Amid the lingering liglit. 
 
 Few sorrows hath she of her own, 
 My hope, my joy, my Genevieve ! 
 She loves me best wliene'er I sing 
 Tlie songs that make her grieve. 
 33 
 
LOVE. 
 
 I played a soft and doleful air; 
 I sano; an old and movino- 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 I 
 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 forgave me that I gazed 
 Too fondly on her face. 
 
 But Avhen I told the cruel scorn 
 That crazed that bold and lovely knight, 
 And that he crossed the mountain-woods, 
 Nor rested day nor night : 
 34 
 
LOYE. 
 
 That sometimes fi^om the savage den, 
 And sometimes from the darksome shade, 
 And sometmies starting up at once 
 In gi^een and sunny ghide. 
 
 There came, and looked hmi in the face, 
 An angel beautiful and bright : 
 And that he knew it was a fiend. 
 This miserable Knight ! 
 
 And that, unknowing what he chd, 
 He leaped amid a miu'derous band. 
 And saved frctm outrage, woi^e than death. 
 The Lady of the Land ; 
 
 Ajid how she wept, and clasped his knees; 
 And how she tended him in vain. 
 And ever strove to expiate 
 
 The scom that crazed his brain ; 
 
 And that she nursed him in a cave ; 
 And how his madness went away, 
 "S^Hien on the yellow forest-leaves 
 A d^-ing man he lay. 
 
 His dying words — but when I reached 
 That tenderest strain of all the ditty, 
 My falterinor voice and pausing harp 
 Disturbed her soul witli ]»itv. 
 35 
 
LOVE. 
 
 All impulses of soul a.nd sense 
 Had tlirilled 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 wishes long subdued, 
 Subdued and cherished lono; ! 
 
 She wept 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, Avith 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 feai'. 
 And partly 'twas a bashful art. 
 That I might rather feel, than see. 
 The swelling of her heart. 
 36 
 
LADY ANN BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. 
 
 I calmed her fears, and slie was cairn, 
 And told her love with virgin pride ; 
 And so I won my Gene\'ieve, 
 
 My bright and brjauteous bride. 
 
 Samukl Taylor Colekltjge. 
 
 LADY ANN BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. 
 
 Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe ! 
 It grieves me sair to see thee weipe ; 
 If thou'st he silent, I'se be glad ; 
 Thy maining maks my lieart ful sad. 
 Balow, my boy, thy mither's joy, 
 Thy father breides me great annoy. 
 
 Baloiv^ my hale^ ly stil and sleipe! 
 
 It grieves me sair to see thee iceipe. 
 
 When he be;zan to court my luve, 
 And Avitli Ill's sugred words to mnve, 
 His fa}Timgs fals, and flattering clieire, 
 To me that time did not appeire ; 
 But now I see, most cruell liee 
 Cares neither for my babe nor mee. 
 
 Baloiv^ my hahe^ ly stil and sleipe! 
 
 It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 
 
LADY ANN BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. 
 
 Ly stil, my darlinge, sleipe awhile ! 
 And wlieii thou wa.kest sweitly smile ; 
 But smile not, as thy father did, 
 To cozen maids ; nay, God forbid I 
 But yette I feire, thou wilt gae neire 
 Thy fatheris hart and face to beKe. 
 
 Balow^ my habe^ ly stil and sleijjef 
 It grieves me sair to see thee iveipe. 
 
 1 canna chuse, but ever will 
 Be luving to thy father stil : 
 Whah'-eir he gae, whair-eh' he ryde. 
 My luve with him maun stil abyde: 
 In well or wae, whair-eir he gae. 
 Mine hart can neir depart him frae. 
 
 Baloiv^ my lahe^ ly stil and sleipe! 
 
 It grieves me sair to see thee %veip)e. 
 
 But doe not, doe not, prettie mine, 
 To faynings fals thine hart inchne : 
 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. 
 
 Balow^ my bahe^ ly stil and sleijye I 
 It grieves me sair to see thee tveipe. 
 
 Bairne, sin thy cruel father's gane, 
 Thy winsome smiles maun else my paine ; 
 My babe and I'll together live ; 
 He'll comfort me when cares doe c^rieve : 
 38 
 
MY CHILD. 
 
 My babe and I right saft will ly, 
 And quite forget man's cruelty. 
 
 Balow^ my hahe^ ly stil and sleipe! 
 
 It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 
 
 Fareweil, farewell, 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 bdbe^ ly stil aud sleipe ! 
 
 It orieves me sair to see thee weijje. 
 
 Anonymous, 
 
 MY CHILD. 
 
 I CANNOT make him dead ! 
 
 His fair svmshiny 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 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 ! 
 39 
 
MY CHILD. 
 
 I thread the crowded street ; 
 
 A satchelled lad I meet, 
 With the same beammg 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 mornnig air 
 
 My soul goes up, with joy. 
 
 To Him who gave my boy ; 
 Then comes the sad thought that — lie is not there ! 
 
 When at the day's calm close, 
 Before we seek repose, 
 I'm with his mother, offering up our prayer, 
 40 
 
MY CHILD. 
 
 Whate'er I may be saying, 
 I am in spirit praying 
 For our boy's spirit, though — he is not there! 
 
 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 there! 
 
 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 shalt see me there T^ 
 
 Yes, we all live to God ! 
 
 Father, 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! 
 
 JOJLN PlERPONT 
 
 41 
 
THINK OF ME. 
 
 Go where the water glideth gently ever, 
 
 GHdeth through meadows tliat the greenest be ; 
 Go, hsten to our own beloved river, 
 
 And think of me. 
 
 Wander in forests, where the small flower layetli 
 
 Its fairy gem beneath the giant tree ; 
 List to the dim brook, pining as it playeth, 
 
 And think of me. 
 
 42 
 
COME, LET US KISSE AXD PAETE ! 
 
 And wlien the sky is silver-pale at even, 
 
 And the wind grieveth in the lonely tree, 
 Walk out beneath 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. 
 
 JoHx Hamilton Reyn()Lds. 
 
 COME, LET US KISSE AND PARTE! 
 
 SixcE there 's no helpe — come, let us kiss and parte ! 
 
 Xay, I have done — you get no more of me ; 
 And I am glad — yea, glad with all my hearte — 
 
 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 Love's latest breatli — 
 When, his pulse failing. Passion speechlesse lies — 
 
 When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death. 
 And Innocence is closing up his eyes — 
 
 Now ! if thou would'st — when all have mven him over — 
 
 From death to life thou might'st him yet recover ! 
 
 Michael Drayton. 
 43 
 
THE FAIREST THING IN MORTAL EYES. 
 
 To make my lady's obsequies, 
 
 My loye a minster wrought ; 
 And, in the chantiy, seryice there 
 
 Was sung by doleful thought. 
 The tapers were of burning sighs. 
 
 That light and odor gaye ; 
 And sorrows, pahited o'er with tears, 
 
 Enlumined her graye ; 
 And round about, in quaintest guise, 
 Was caryed : " Within this tomb there lies 
 The fairest thing in mortal eyes." 
 
 Aboye 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 liyelily portrayed. 
 When gracious God with both His hands 
 
 Her goodly substance made. 
 He filmed her in such wondrous wise, 
 She was, to speak without disguise. 
 The fairest thino; in mortal eyes. 
 
 44 
 
A DEATH-BED. 
 
 No more, no more ! my heart doth faint 
 
 When I the hfe recall 
 Of her who lived so free from taint, 
 
 So virtnons 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 Henry Francis Gary. 
 
 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 Aldkicii. 
 45 
 
FAREWELL! BUT WHENEVER YOU WELCOME THE HOUR. 
 
 Farewell ! but \vheiie\?er 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 yon. 
 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 enchantment 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 lies, be it gloom}' 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 wish he were here ! ' 
 
 Let Fate do her worst ! there are relics of joy. 
 
 Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy — 
 
 Which come in the nio;ht-time of sorrow and care, 
 
 And bring back the features that joy used to wear. 
 
 Long, long be my heart with such memories filled I 
 
 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 w41l hang round it still. 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 46 
 
JENNY KISSED ME. 
 
 Jknny kissed me when we met, 
 
 Jumping from the cliair slie sat in ; 
 Time, you thief, who love to get 
 
 Sweets into your hst, put tliat in ! 
 Say I'm weary, say Tm sad ; 
 
 Say that liealtli and wealth have missed me ; 
 Say Tm growing dull, but add, 
 
 Jeimy kissed me ! 
 
 Lkigii Hunt. 
 47 
 
INFANT JOY. 
 
 " I have no name — 
 I am but two days old." 
 What shall I call thee ? 
 
 '^ I happy am, 
 Joy is my name." 
 Sweet joy befall thee I 
 
 Pretty joy ! 
 
 Sweet joy but two days old. 
 
 Sweet joy I call thee, 
 
 Thou dost smile, 
 
 I smg the while. 
 
 Sweet joy befall thee I 
 
 William Blakk. 
 
 TOO LATE. 
 
 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 I 
 
 48 
 
CHANGES. 
 
 ! to call back the days that are not ! 
 
 My eyes were bhnded, 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. 
 
 AVhom 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 Avliich it is hard to bear ; 
 Much given away which it were sweet to keej). 
 God help us all ! who need, indeed. His care. 
 And yet, I know the Shepherd loves his sheep. 
 
 49 
 
CHANGES. 
 
 My little boy begins to babble now 
 Upon my knee liis earliest infant prayer. 
 He has liis father's eager eyes, I know : 
 And, they say, too, his mothei's simny hah\ 
 
 But when he sleeps and smiles upon my knee, 
 And I can feel his light breath come and go, 
 I thmk of one (Heaven help and pity me I) 
 Who loved me, and whom I loved, long ago : 
 
 Who might have been ... ah what, I dare not think I 
 We are all changed. God judges for us best. 
 God help us do our duty, and not shrmk. 
 And tinist in Heaven humbly for the rest I 
 
 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. 
 VHio 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 httle child — he sleeps and smiles between 
 
 These thoughts and me. In heaven we shall know all. 
 
 KOBKRT BULWER LyTTOX. 
 
 50 
 
A HEALTH. 
 
 I FILL this cup to one made up 
 
 Of loveliness alone : 
 A woman — of lier gentle sex 
 
 The seeming paragon ; 
 To Avliom the better elements 
 
 And kindly 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 something more than 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, 
 
 Tlie freshness of young flowers ; 
 And lovely passions, changing oft, 
 
 So fill her, she appears 
 The image of themselves by turns, 
 
 The idol of past years. 
 51 
 
ABSENCE. 
 
 On her briMit face one crlance will trace 
 
 A picture on the brain, 
 And of her voice in echoing hearts 
 
 A sound must long remain : 
 But memory, such as mine of lier, 
 
 So very much endears, 
 When death is niMi mv hitest sio:h 
 
 Will not be life's, but hers. 
 
 1 fill this cup to one made up 
 
 Of loveliness alone : 
 A woman — of her gentle sex 
 
 The seeming paragon. 
 Her health I and would on earth there stood 
 
 Some more of such a frame. 
 That life might be all poetry, 
 
 And weariness a name. 
 
 EdWAKD CoATE PlNKNEY. 
 
 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 lowers 
 
 Betw*een 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 with some fond pretence 
 Cheat myself to forget the present day ? 
 52 
 
ABSENCE. 
 
 Shall love for tliee lay on my soul the sm 
 Of casting from me God's great gift of time ? 
 
 Shall I, these mists of memory locked within, 
 Leave and forget life's purposes sublime ? 
 
 O ! how, or by what means, may I contrive 
 
 To brino; the hour that brink's thee back more near ? 
 
 How may I teach my drooping hope to live 
 Until that blessed time, and thou art here ? 
 
 ril tell thee : for tliy sake I will lay hold 
 Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee. 
 
 In worthy 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, noi' call their minutes pains. 
 
 I will this dreary blank of absence make 
 A noble task-time ; and will therein strive 
 
 To follow excellence, and to o'ertake 
 
 More ^ood than I have won since yet I live. 
 
 So may this doomed time build up in me 
 
 A thousand graces, which shall thus be thine ! 
 
 So may my love and longing hallowed be. 
 And thy dear thought an influence divine ! 
 
 Frances Kemble Butler. 
 
 .53 
 
DOLLY SULLIVAN. 
 
 *'0! A WEDDING ring's pretty to wear, 
 And a bride of all women is fair, 
 But tlien, 
 
 There's no trusting in men, 
 And, if I were a girl, I'd of lovers beware. 
 
 They may court you to-day. 
 Sweet as birds in the May, 
 
 But to-morrow, look out ! they'll be all flown away 
 Old Dolly Sullivan shook her gray head — 
 Lovers were now the last thing she need dread. 
 
 54 
 
ABSENCE. 
 
 Sliall love for thee lay on my soul the sm 
 Of casting from me God's great gift of time ? 
 
 Sliall 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 that brino;s thee back more near ? 
 How may I teach my drooping hope to live 
 Until that blessed time, and thou art here ? 
 
 ril tell thee : for thy sake I will lay hold 
 Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee. 
 
 In worthy 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 ^ood than I have won since yet I live. 
 
 So may tliis doomed time build up in me 
 
 A thousand graces, which sliall thus be thine ! 
 
 So may my love and longing hallowed be. 
 And thy dear thought an influence divine ! 
 
 Fkancks Kemhlk Butlfk. 
 
 .5;] 
 
DOLLY SULLIVAN. 
 
 ' When you come to your own wedding-morn. 
 Just to find you're a maid left forlorn, 
 Ah, then, 
 
 Where's your faith in the men, 
 
 When your wedding-gown's on and your bridegroom is gone '^ 
 You must take off that gow^n, 
 And sit quietly down, 
 
 Cast aside, thrown away, to be talk for the town." 
 Old Dolly Sullivan shook her gray head ; — 
 '' Children once burnt of the fire have a dread ; 
 Let your love-stories be. 
 When you're talking to me ; 
 Sweethearts! I've had 'em ! I know 'em ! " she said. 
 
 Marian Douglas. 
 
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 ; 
 In 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. 
 07 
 
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 briglit 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 Parnell. 
 
 58 
 
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 teaching. 
 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 liath 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 that give thee world-renown. 
 
 Not by martyrdom, or vaunted crosses. 
 
 Canst thou win and wear the innnortal crown. 
 
 59 
 
TO THE L^^SATISFIED. 
 
 Daily stiTiggliiig, thougli Tiiiloved and lonely, 
 
 Every day a ricli reward will give : 
 Thou wilt fiiid by hearty stri\ing only, 
 
 And truly loving, thou canst truly live. 
 
 Dost thou revel in the rosv mornmcr^ 
 When all nature hails the lord of hght, 
 
 And liis smile, the mountaia-tops adomuig, 
 Rol)es yon fragrant fields m radiance bright? 
 
 Other hands may grasp the tleld and forest, 
 Proud proprietoi-s m pomp may shine ; 
 
 But with fervent love if thou adorest, 
 
 Thou art wealthier — all the world is thine! 
 
 Yet if through earth's ^vide domains thou rovest. 
 Sighing that they are not thine alone, 
 
 Xot those fair fields, but thyself thou lovest. 
 And their beauty, and thy wealtli, are gone. 
 
 Nature wears the color of the spirit ; 
 
 Sweetly to her worshipper she smgs ; 
 All the glow, the gi-ace she doth inherit, 
 
 Roirad her trustmg child she fondly flings. 
 
 Harriet AVinsiow. 
 
 60 
 
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 p-round where thou art laid. 
 
 t^^ 
 
 When howling winds and beating rain 
 In tempests shake the sylvan cell, 
 
 Or midst the chase, on every plain. 
 
 The tender thought on tliee sliall dwell, 
 
THE DIRGE OF DIOGEN. 
 
 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. 
 
 '\^'iLLiAM Collins. 
 
 THE DIEGE OF BIO GEN. 
 
 Fear no more the heat o' the sun, 
 Xor the furious AVinter'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, 
 Xor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ; 
 
 Fear not slander, censure rash ; 
 Thou hast finished joy and moan : 
 
 62 
 
YORK AND LANCASTER. 
 
 All lovers young, all lovers must 
 Consign to thee, and come to dust. 
 
 No exerciser harm th^e ! 
 
 Nor no witchcraft charm thee ! 
 
 Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! 
 
 Nothing ill come near thee ! 
 Quiet consummation have. 
 And renowned be thy grave ! 
 
 Shakspeark 
 
 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. 
 
 68 
 
AT THE CIIUKCH GATE. 
 
 Although I enter not, 
 Yet round about the spot 
 
 Ofttimes I hover; 
 And near the sacred gate, 
 
 64 
 
AT THE CnURCH GATE. 
 
 With longing eyes I wait, 
 Expectant of her. 
 
 The minster bel^ tolls out 
 Above the city's rout, 
 
 And noise and hummino-. 
 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 ! 
 
 Kneel undisturbed, fair saint ! 
 Pour out your praise or plaint 
 
 Meekly and duly ; 
 I will not enter there. 
 To sully your pure prayer 
 
 With thoughts unruly. 
 
 But suffer me to pace 
 Round the forbidden place, 
 
 Lino-erino; a minvite, 
 Like outcast spirits, who wait. 
 And see, through Heaven's gate, 
 Ano:els v/ithin it. 
 
 William Makkpeacic Thacki hay 
 05 
 
ELEGY. 
 
 Sleep on, my love, in tlij cold bed, 
 
 Xever to be disqnieted I 
 
 My last good night! Thou wilt not T^ako 
 
 Till I thy fate shall oA'ertake, 
 
 Till age, or grief, or sickness, mnst 
 
 Marry my body to that dust 
 
 It so much loves, and fill 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 nip'ht when I betake to rest, 
 
 Next mom I rise nearer my west 
 
 Of life, almost by eight lioures saile, 
 
 Than when sleep breathed his di'owsie 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. 
 66 
 
TO CELIA. 
 
 ^Tis true, with shame and grief I yield, 
 
 Thou, hke the vanne, first took'st the fiekl, 
 
 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 ! 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 
 
 TO CELIA. 
 
 Drink to me only with thine eyes, 
 
 And I 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 woukl not change for thine. 
 67 
 
Translation of Bex Jo^'so^-, 
 
 LIKE A POET IX THE SPLEXDOR. 
 
 I sent thee. late, a rosy wreath. 
 Xut so miicli honorinir tliee, 
 As giving 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 swear, 
 Xot of itself, but thee. 
 
 Philostratus. (Greek.) 
 
 Like a poet in the splendor 
 
 Of his genius, all complete. 
 In your love, so true and tender, 
 
 I am hidden, lost, my sweet. 
 
 When you leave me, all is yearning, 
 
 All is darkness, doubt, and woe, 
 And the time of ycair returning - 
 
 Is the only time I know. 
 
 Alice Gary. 
 
 68 
 
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 weary 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 hand your tongue, my daughter : 
 Be still, and bide content ; 
 Gi) 
 
THE FLOWEE OF BEAUTY. 
 
 There 's itiier lads in Galloway : 
 Ye iieedna sair lament.'' 
 
 there is nane in Gallowav, 
 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 slumbei-s, 
 Lulled by the faint breezes sighinor through her hah' ; 
 Sleeps she, and hears not the melancholy nunibei^ 
 Breathed to my sad lute amid the lonely au\ 
 
 Do^^^l fi-om the liigh cliffs the rivulet is teeming. 
 
 To wind romid the willow banks that lure liim fi'om above : 
 
 O that, in tears, fi'om my rocky prison streaming, 
 
 I, too, could glide to the bower of my love I 
 
 Ah I where tlie woodbines, with sleepy arms, have womid her, 
 Opes she her eyelids at the di'eam 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 bhd ! for the peace thou ever bearest. 
 Still heaven's messenger of comfort to me I 
 Come I this fond bosom, my faithfullest, my fairest. 
 Bleeds with its death-womid — but deeper yet for thee. 
 
 Georce Dakley. 
 70 
 
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 I " 
 
 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 lier. 
 
 71 
 
THE WELCOME. 
 
 O she'll whisper you — ^' Love, as unchangeably beamnu 
 And trust, when m secret, most tunefully streamincr ; '' 
 Till the starlight of Heaven above us shall quiver, 
 As our souls flow in one down Eteniitv's river. 
 
 IV. 
 
 So come hi the evening, or come hi the morning ; 
 Come when vou're looked for, or come without warning 
 
UNFLEDGED. 
 
 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 toM me was blighted ; 
 
 The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, 
 
 And the linnets are singing " True lovers don't sever ! " 
 
 Thomas Davis 
 
 UNFLEDGED. 
 
 The egg of a little bird 
 
 Fell at my feet to-day. 
 And the life within it stirred. 
 
 Throbbed once, and sank away. 
 
 A song fell out of a heart 
 Into the hands of men ; 
 
 They broke it all apart. 
 
 And none would know it then. 
 
 Poor little bird in the grass ! 
 
 Poor little tremblino; sono; ! 
 Beside you both I pass ; 
 
 And the way, the way is long. 
 
 Poor little Avren so brown. 
 Twittering over her loss ! 
 
 Poor little heart cast down, 
 Thine is the greater cross! 
 
 Samukl ^V. Duff I EL i>. 
 73 
 
THE CHESS-BOARD. 
 
 My little love, do you remember, 
 
 Ere we were grown so sadly wise. 
 Those evenings in the bleak December, 
 Curtained Avarm from the snowy weather, 
 When you and I played chess together. 
 Checkmated by each other's eyes ? 
 Ah ! still I see your soft white hand 
 Hovering warm o'er Queen and Knight. 
 Brave Pawns in valiant battle stand ; 
 The double Castles guard the wings ; 
 The Bishop, bent on distant things, 
 Moves, sidling, through the fight. 
 
 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 wp' 
 'Mid life's perplexing checkers made, 
 And many a game with Fortune played : 
 
 74 
 
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 I 
 
 Robert Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 THE ROYAL GUEST. 
 
 They tell me I am shrewd with other men ; 
 With thee I'm slow, and difficult of speech. 
 With others I may guide the car of talk ; 
 Thou 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 lieart 
 With liohest purpose, as for God himself. 
 
 For them I while the hours with tale or song, 
 Or web of fancy, fringed witli careless rliyine ; 
 But how to find a fitting lay for thee. 
 Who hast the harmonies of every time ? 
 
 75 
 
ALL'S WELL. 
 
 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 tare 
 And. bhishing, own it is not good enough. 
 
 Bethink thee then, whene'er thou com'st to me 
 From high emprise and noble toil to rest. 
 ]\Iy thoughts are weak and trivial, matched with thine ; 
 But the poor mansion offers thee its best. 
 
 Julia Ward Howe. 
 
 ALL'S WELL. 
 
 ''All's Well I ** — How the musical sound 
 
 Smites, surge-like, the slumbering ear. 
 As the sentinel paces his round, 
 
 And carols his tidings of cheer ! 
 Half-startled, the soldier awakes, 
 
 Recalling his senses that roam : 
 — * Tis only a moment it breaks 
 
 On the dream he was dreaming of home : 
 
 "Air 8 Welir' 
 
ALL'S WELL. 
 
 ^'AlVs Well!''' — Through the lengthening lines 
 
 Each sentry re-echoes the word. 
 And faintly yon forest of pines 
 
 With dreamy responses'is stirred : 
 On tlie marge of the nebulous night, 
 
 A wavy, reiterate sigh, 
 It ripples, — tlien vanishes quite 
 
 In the infinite deeps of tlie sky : 
 
 '^AlVs Well!'' 
 
 ''All's Well!"— In the warfiire of life 
 
 Does my soul like a sentinel stand. 
 Prepared to encounter the strife, 
 
 With well burnished weapon in hand ? 
 ^Vhile tlie senses securely repose, 
 
 And doubt and temptation have room, 
 Does the keen ear of conscience unclose ? 
 
 Does she listen, and catch through the gloom : 
 
 '^ All's Well?" 
 
 ''AlV^ Well!"—C^\\ I echo the word? 
 
 Does faith witli a sleepless control 
 Bid the peaceful assurance be heard 
 
 In the questionless depths of my soul? 
 Then fear not, frail heart ! — when the scars 
 
 Of the brave-fougliten combat are past. 
 Clear voices that flill from the stars 
 
 Will quiet thee on to the last : 
 
 ''All's Well!" 
 
 Margaukt J. rRr<r«^N-. 
 
^A>-- \ 
 
 ON A GIRDLE. 
 
 That wliicli her slender waist confined 
 Shall now my joyful temples bind ; 
 Xo monarch but would give his crown, 
 Ilis arms miofht do what this hath done. 
 
 Il was my Heaven's extremest sphere, 
 Tlie pale which held that lovely deer : 
 78 
 
THE MOTHER'S LAST SONG. 
 
 My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, 
 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 bomid, 
 Take all the rest the sun goes round ! 
 
 Edmund Waller. 
 
 THE MOTHER'S LAST SONG. 
 
 Sleep ! — The ghostly winds 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 angels 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, 
 
 The world is cruel, the world is untrue ; 
 Our foes are many, oiw friends are few ; 
 79 
 

SHE IS A MAID OF ARTLESS GEACE. 
 
 No work, no bread, however we sue ! 
 What is there left for me to do. 
 But fly, fly 
 From the cruel sky. 
 And hide in the deepest deeps — and die ! 
 
 Bryan Wallp:r Procter. (Barry Cornwall.) 
 
 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 fair 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 YiCKitTE. (Portuiruese.; 
 
 'rmnslation of Henry Wadswokth Longfkllow. 
 
 81 
 
BEWARE ! 
 
 I KNOW a maiden fair to see t 
 
 Take care I 
 She can both false and friendly be : 
 
 Beware I Beware I 
 
 Trust her not , 
 She is fooling thee I 
 
 She has two eyes, so soft and brown : 
 
 Take care ! 
 She gives a side-gkince and looks down : 
 
 Beware ! Beware I 
 
 Trust her not : 
 Slie is foohng thee I 
 
 And she has hair of a golden hue : 
 
 Take care ! 
 And what slie 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 I 
 Trust her not ; 
 She is fooHng thee ! 
 82 
 
SOXG. 
 
 She gives thee a garland woven fair: 
 
 Take care I 
 It is a foors-cap for thee to wear : 
 
 Beware I Beware ! 
 
 Trust her not ; 
 
 She is fooKng thee ! 
 
 AxoxTMOUS. (German.) 
 rraasiatioii of He>.-ry Wadsworth Lo>-gfellow 
 
 ?OXG. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Wliv so dull and mute, vouncr sinner? 
 
 Prithee, why so mute ? 
 Will, when speaking well can't win her, 
 
 Saying notliing do't ? 
 
 Prithee, why so mute ? 
 
 Quit, quit, for shame ! this will not move. 
 
 This cannot take her ; 
 If of hei^self she will not love. 
 Nothing can make her : 
 The Devil take her I 
 
 Sir .Tony Sccklfno 
 83 
 
LEFT BEriJLND, 
 
 It was the autumn of the year , 
 The strawberry-leaves were red and sere ; 
 October's ah's were fi^esh and chill ; 
 Wlien, pausmg on the wmdy hill, 
 The liill that overlooks the sea, 
 You talked confidingly to me ; 
 Me, wdiom your keen, artistic sight 
 Has not yet learned to read aright. 
 Since I have veiled my heart from yon, 
 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 youx 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 heait beuu 
 Heavy and slow, beneath your feet ; 
 84 
 
LEFT BEHIND. 
 
 You thought of triumphs still unwon, 
 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 fi^iends 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, Avliich now 
 Breaks into bloom upon your brow. 
 My soul cried strongly out to you 
 Across the ocean's yearning bhie. 
 While, unremembered and afar, 
 I watched you, as I watch a star, 
 Througli 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, 
 80 
 
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." 
 
 Florexce Percy. 
 
 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 ^ 
 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 Avears ! 
 But first set my poor heart free. 
 Bound in those icy chains by thee. 
 
 Shakspeare, and John Fletcher. 
 86 
 
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 through. 
 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 speak ; 
 Yet her full heart, its own interpreter. 
 
 Translates itself in silence on her cheek. 
 
 Joy's opening buds, affection's glowing flowers, 
 Once lightly sprang within her beaming track ; 
 
 O, life was beautiful in those lost hours ! 
 And yet she does not wish to wander back. 
 87 
 
THE OLD MAID. 
 
 No ! slie but loves in loneliness to think 
 
 On pleasures past, tliougli never more to be ; 
 
 Hope links her to the tliture — 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 lonelv 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 knit. 
 And sweetly mournful pleasures wander through 
 
 Her viro-in soul, and softlv iTiffle 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 cup, 
 But ever wanders on with heavenward brow. 
 
 And eyes whose 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 tliat spirit-realm perpetuate. 
 
 88 
 
SHE IS NOT FAIR. 
 
 Yet sometimes o'er her trembling heartstrings thrill 
 
 Soft sighs — for raptures it hath ne'er enjoyed; 
 And then she 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. 
 
 Amelia Ball Wklr-, 
 
 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 well of love, a spring of light ! 
 
 But now her looks are coy and cold : 
 
 To mine they ne'er reply ; 
 And yet I cease not to behold 
 
 The love-hght in her eye. 
 Her very frowns are better flu* 
 Than smiles of other maidens are. 
 
 Hartley Colkkidgk. 
 
 89 
 
80J>JG. 
 
 Drink ye to her tliat 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. 
 90 
 
THE LADY'S ''YES." 
 
 Yet far, far hence be jest or boast 
 
 From hallowed thoughts so dear ; 
 But drink to her that each loves most, 
 
 As she would love to hear. 
 
 Thomas Campbell. 
 
 THE LADYS "YES." 
 
 '' Yes ! " I answered you last night ; 
 '' No ! " this morning. Sir, I say. 
 Colors seen by candle-light 
 
 Will not look the same by day. 
 
 When the viols played their best. 
 Lamps above, nnd laughs below — 
 
 Love me sounded like a jest, 
 Fit for F6^s or fit tor No, 
 
 01 
 
THE LADY'S "YES." 
 
 Call me false or call me free — 
 Vow, whatever light may shine, 
 
 No man on your face shall see 
 Any grief for change on mine. 
 
 Yet the sin is on us both — 
 
 Time to dance is not to woo — 
 
 Wooino; lio-ht makes fickle troth — 
 Scorn of me recoils on you : 
 
 Learn to win a lady's faith 
 Noblv as the thino; is hi^h ; 
 
 Bravely, as for life and death — 
 With a loyal gravity. 
 
 Lead her from the festive boards, 
 Point her to the starry skies. 
 
 Guard her, by your truthful words. 
 Pure from courtship's flatteries. 
 
 By your truth she shall be true — 
 Ever true, as wives of yore — 
 
 And her Yes^ once said to you, 
 Shall be Yes for evermore. 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 
 
 92 
 
THOU HAST SWORN BY THY GOD, MY JEANIE. 
 
 Thou hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie, 
 
 By that pretty white han' o' thine, 
 And by a' the lowing stars in heaven. 
 
 That thou wad aye be mine ! 
 And I hae sworn by my God, my Jeanie, 
 
 And by that kind heart o' thine, 
 By a' the stars sown thick owre heaven, 
 
 That thou shalt aye be mine ! 
 
 Then foul fa' the hands that wad loose sic bands, 
 
 And the heart that wad part sic luve ! 
 But there's nae hand can loose my band. 
 
 But the finger o' Him abuve. 
 Though the wee, wee cot maun be my bield, 
 
 And my claithing ne'er sae mean, 
 I wad lap me up rich i' the faulds o' luve, 
 
 Heaven's armfu' o' my Jean. 
 
 Her white arm wad be a pillow for me, 
 
 Fu' safter than the down ; 
 And Luve wad winnow owre us liis kind, kind wings, 
 
 And sweetly I'd sleep, and soun\ 
 Come here to me, thou lass o' my luve ! 
 
 Come here and kneel wi' me ! 
 i)3 
 
WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST. 
 
 Tlie morn is fu' o' the presence o' God, 
 And I canna pray without thee. 
 
 The morn wind is sweet 'mang the beds o' new flowers, 
 
 The wee birds sing kindhe and hie ; 
 Our gudeman leans owre his kale-yard dyke, 
 
 And a blythe auld bodie is he. 
 The Beuk maun be ta'en whan the carle comes hame, 
 
 Wi' the holie psalmodie; 
 And thou maun speak o' me to thy God, 
 
 And I will speak o' thee. 
 
 Allan Cunningham 
 
 WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST. 
 
 Where shall the lover rest. 
 
 Whom the fates sever. 
 From his true maiden's breast 
 
 Parted forever ? 
 Where, through groves deep and high, 
 
 Sounds the far billow. 
 Where early violets die. 
 
 Under the willow. 
 
 There, through the summer day, 
 
 Cool streams are laving ; 
 There, while the tempests sway, 
 
 Scarce are boughs waving ; 
 94 
 
WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST. 
 
 There thy rest shalt tliou take. 
 
 Parted forever, 
 Never again to wake, 
 
 Never, O never 1 
 
 Where shall the traitor rest,. 
 
 He the deceiver, 
 Who could win maiden's breasu 
 
 Ruin and leave her? 
 In the lost battle, 
 
 Borne down by tlie flying. 
 Where mingles war's rattle 
 
 With groans of the dying. 
 
 Her wing sliall the eagle flap 
 
 O'er the false-hearted ; 
 His warm blood the wolf shall lap, 
 
 Ere life be parted. 
 Shame and dislionor sit 
 
 By his grave ever! 
 Blessing shall hallow it 
 
 Never, O never ! 
 
 55iix Walter Scott. 
 
 95 
 

 A MUSICAL BOX. 
 
 I KNOW her, the thing of laces, and silk, 
 And ribbons, and gauzes, and crinoline. 
 
 With her neck and shoulders as white as milk, 
 And her doll-like face and conscious mien. 
 
 A lay-figure fashioned to fit a dress. 
 
 All stuffed within with straw and bran ; 
 
 Is that a woman to love, to caress ? 
 Is that a creature to charm a man ? 
 
 Only listen ! how charnnngly she talks 
 
 Of your dress and hers — of the Paris mode - 
 
 Of the coming ball — of the opera box — 
 
 Of jupons, and flounces, and fashions abroad, 
 or/ 
 
A MUSICAL BOX. 
 
 Not a bonnet in church but she knows it well, 
 And Fashion she worships with clown-cast eves ; 
 
 A marchande de modes is her oracle, 
 And Paris her earthly paradise. 
 
 She's perfect to whirl with m a waltz; 
 
 And her shoulders show well on a soft divan. 
 As she lounges at night and spreads her silks, 
 
 And plays with her bracelets and flirts her fan, — 
 
 With a little laugh at whatever you say, 
 
 And rounding her " No " with a look of surprise, 
 
 And lisping her '^Yes" with an air distrait, 
 And a pair of aimless, wandering eyes. 
 
 Her duty this Christian never omits ! 
 
 She makes her calls, and she leaves her cards, 
 And enchants a circle of half-fledo:ed wits. 
 
 And slim attaches and six-foot Guards. 
 
 Her talk is of people, who 're nasty or nice. 
 And she likes little hon-hon compliments ; 
 
 While she seasons their sweetness by way of spice, 
 By some witless scandal she often invents. 
 
 Is this the thino* for a mother or wife ? 
 
 Could love ever grov/ on such barren rocks ? 
 Is this a companion to take for a wife ? 
 
 One mio-ht as well marry a musical box. 
 
 You exhaust in a day her full extent , 
 
 ' Tis the same little tinkle of tunes always , 
 You must wind her up with a compliment. 
 To be bored with the only airs she j>lays. 
 
 W. W. SroKi. 
 97 
 
THE MAIDEN'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 true. 
 
 Henky Fielding. 
 
 98 
 
THE WIDOW AND CHILD. 
 
 Home they brought her warrior dead ; 
 
 She nor swooned, nor uttered cry. 
 All her maidens, watchino;, said 
 
 6' 
 
 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 I " 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 
 00 
 
MEETING AND PARTING. 
 
 ^^%v ' ^^^^' g^'^y ^^^^^ '^^^^^ ^'^^ ^^^^o black land ; 
 itj^^vj And the yellow half-moon, lame and 
 
^ SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. 
 
 And the startled little waves, that leap 
 In fiery ringlets from their sleep, 
 As I gain the cove with pushing prow, 
 And quench its speed in the slushy sand. 
 
 Then a mile of w^arm, 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, through 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 ! 
 
 Ho B E R T h K O W X I N O 
 
 SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. 
 
 She was a phantom of dehght 
 When first she gleamed upon my sight, 
 A lovely apparition, sent 
 To be a moment's ornament : 
 101 
 
SHE WAS PHAI^TOM OF DELIGHT. 
 
 Her eyes as stars of twilight fair, 
 Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair ; 
 But all things else about her drawn 
 From May time and the cheerful dawn ; 
 A dancing shape, an image gay. 
 To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 
 
 I saw her, upon nearer view, 
 
 A spirit, yet a woman too ! 
 
 Her household motions light and free, 
 
 And steps of virgin liberty ; 
 
 A countenance in which did meet 
 
 Sweet records, promises as sweet ; 
 
 A creature not too bright or good 
 
 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 Wordsworth. 
 
 102 
 
WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER. 
 
 We have been friends together, 
 
 In sunshme and in shade, 
 Smce first beneath the chestnut trees 
 
 In mfancy we played ; 
 But coldness dwells within thy heart, 
 
 A cloud is on thy brow. 
 We have been friends together : 
 
 Shall a light word part us now? 
 
 We have been gay together : 
 
 We have laughed at little jests ; 
 For the fount of hope was gushing, 
 
 Warm and joyous, in our breasts ; 
 But laughter now hath fled thy lip. 
 
 And sullen glooms thy brow. 
 We have been gay together : 
 
 Shall a light word part us noAv? 
 
 We have been sad together ; 
 
 We have wept, with bitter tears, 
 O'er the grass-grown graves where slumbered 
 
 The hopes of early years ; 
 The voices which are silent there 
 
 Would bid thee clear thy brow. 
 We have been sad together : 
 
 O! what shall part us now? 
 
 CaKOLINK ElIZAHKTU NclMON. 
 
 103 
 
TOMMY'S DEAD. 
 
 You may give over plougli, boys, 
 You may take the gear to the stead ; 
 All the sweat o' your brow, bovs, 
 Will never get beer and bread. 
 The seed's waste, I know, bovs ; 
 There's not a blade will grow, boys ; 
 104 
 
TOMMY'S DEAD. 
 
 'Tis cropped out, I trow, boys ; 
 And Tommy's dead. 
 
 Send the colt to the fail*, 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 wliite nor red. 
 
 There's no sign of grass, boys ; 
 
 You may sell the goat and the ass, boys ; 
 
 Tlie land's not what it was, boys ; 
 
 And tlie beasts must be fed. 
 
 You may turn Peg away, boys ; 
 
 You may pay off old Ned. 
 
 We've had a dull day, boys ; 
 
 And Tommy's dead. 
 
 Move my chair on the flooi', boys : 
 Let me turn my head ; 
 Slie's standing there in the door, boys — 
 Your sister Winifred ! 
 Take lier away from me, boys — 
 Your sister Winifred ! 
 (Move me round in my place, boys : 
 Let me turn my head ;) 
 Take her away from me, boys — 
 105 
 
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 in 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 A\4zen 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 turn my head, 
 106 
 
TOMMY'S DEAD. 
 
 There's a mildew and a mould; 
 The sun'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 ; 
 
 Tliere's something wi'ong i' tlie 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 ; 
 107 
 
LAMENT OF THE BORDER AMDO\V. 
 
 I shall never more be stout, bo^-? ; 
 You may carry me to bed. 
 Wliat are you a': ::. '; jys ? 
 The prayers ai^e :.^ -il. 
 The fire's raked : .1:. '^j^'jj^ ; 
 And Tommy *s dead. 
 
 The stairs are too steep, bojs. 
 You may cany me to the liead ; 
 
 The night's dark and deep, hovs, 
 
 Youi' m'Other's long in bed : 
 "Tis tim-r :: _: to sleep, buys; 
 And Tonmiy's dead. 
 
 I'm not used to kiss, boys ; 
 
 You may slink e mv \\^vA instead. 
 All thing^ ^ : ... I- : 
 
 You mav lay me where -l_r :>, bovs. 
 And ri: -- -: :!d head. 
 'Tis a p':":'r world, this, boys : 
 And T<:'mmy*s dead. 
 
 Sydney Dobrll. 
 
 LA3IEXT CjY the BORDER WIDOW. 
 
 ]\Iy Ljve lie built me a bonny bower, 
 And clad it a* wi* hlye ilour ; 
 A brawer bower ye ne'er chd see 
 Than my tnie L:»A'e lie built fjr me. 
 108 
 
LAMENT OF THE BORDEK WIDOW. 
 
 There came a man, by middle day ; 
 He spied his 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 bodv on my back. 
 And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat ; 
 I 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 iliat my lovely Imight is slain ; 
 Wi' ae lock of his yellow hair 
 I'll chain my heart for evermaii\ 
 
 AN'^NVMOrS. 
 
 109 
 

 lejS] (U. CMll.^ ^fitu jUu. /turc. ^, 
 
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 Kke a lily 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 ! 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 Ill 
 
SONG 
 
 Day, ill meltmg purple dyiiiii ■ 
 Blossoms, all around me sio^hincr I 
 Fragrance, from the lilies straying I 
 Zeplnn^, with my ringlets playing I 
 
 Ye but waken my distress ; 
 
 I am sick of loneliness. 
 112 
 
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 ni beheve 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 gold are naught to me ; 
 
 I would only look on thee ! 
 
 Tell to thee the high-wrought feehng, 
 
 Ecstasy but in reveahng ; 
 
 Paint to thee the deep sensation. 
 
 Rapture in participation ; 
 
 Yet but torture, if comprest 
 Li 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 nothbig could deny thee. 
 
 In a look if death there be. 
 Come — and I will gaze on tliee ! 
 
 Maria Brooks. 
 
 ll.S 
 
A DIRGE 
 
 " O DIG a grave, and dig it deep, 
 Where I and my true-love may sleep ? *' 
 We^ll dig a grave^ and dig it deep^ 
 Where thou and thy true-love shall sleep ! 
 
 '' And let it be five fathom lo^v, 
 Where winter wmds may never blow ! '' 
 And it shall be five fathom loiv^ 
 Where winter winds shall never How ! 
 
 " And let it be on yonder hill, 
 Where grows the momitain daffodil!" 
 And it shall be on yonder hill^ 
 Where grows the mountain daffodil! 
 
 " And plant it round with holy briers. 
 To fright away the fairy fires I " 
 
 We'll plant it round with holy brier Sy 
 To flight away the fairy fires ! 
 
 " And set it round with celandine, 
 And nodding heads of columbine ! " 
 We^ll set it round ivith celandine^ 
 And nodding head^ of columbine ! 
 114 
 
A DIRGE. 
 
 '' And let the ruddock build his nest 
 Just above my true-love's breast ! " 
 
 The ruddock he shall build his nest 
 
 Just above thy true-love's breast ! 
 
 '^ And warble his sweet wintry song 
 O'er our dwelling all day long ! " 
 
 And he shall warble his sweet song 
 
 O'er your dwelling all day long, 
 
 *' Now, tender friends, my garments take, 
 And lay me out for Jesus' sake ! " 
 
 And we will now thy garments tahe^ 
 
 And lay thee out for Jesus' sake ! 
 
 '' And lay me by my true-love's side, 
 
 That I may be a faithful bride ! " 
 We'll lay thee by thy true-love's side^ 
 That thou mayst be a faithful bride ! 
 
 '^ When I am dead, and buried be, 
 Pray to God in heaven for me ! " 
 Now thou art dead^ we'll bury tliee^ 
 And pray to God in heaveji for thee ! 
 
 Benediclte ! 
 William Stanley Koscoe. 
 
 11.3 
 
POLAR DAYS. 
 
 As some poor piteous Lapp, who under firs 
 
 Which bend and break with load of arctic snows, 
 Has crept and crouclied to watcli wlien crimson glows 
 
 Heirin, feels in his veins tlie tlirilhno; stirs 
 
 1 IG 
 
LOVE NOT ME. 
 
 Of warmer life, e'en while his fear deters 
 
 His trust : and when the orano-e turns to rose 
 In vain, and widening to the westward goes 
 The ruddy beam and fades, heart-sick defers 
 His hope, and shivers through one more loner nio-lit 
 Of sunless day ; - — 
 
 So watching, one by one, 
 The faintest glimmers of the morn's gray h'glit. 
 The sleepless exiled heart waits for the briglit 
 Full day, and hopes till all its hours are done. 
 That the next one will bring its love, its sun. 
 
 H. H. 
 
 LOYE 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 ill — 
 So thou and I shall sever. 
 
 Keep tlierefore a true woman's eye. 
 And love me still, but know not wliy : 
 So hast thou the same reason still 
 To dote upon me ever. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 11- 
 
LITTLE WORDS. 
 
 How wise lie is ! He can talk in Greek ! 
 There isn't a language lie cannot speak. 
 The very measure the Psalmist sung 
 He carries at will on the tip of his tongue. 
 When he argues in English, why, every word 
 Is almost the biggest that ever you heard ! 
 That is, when he talks with papa it's so — 
 With me it's another affair, you must know. 
 
 Little one-syllable words, you see. 
 
 Are all he is willing to waste upon me : 
 
 So he calls me his rose, his bird, and his pet, 
 
 And says it quite often lest I should forget ; 
 
 While his stock of verbs grows so wondrously small, 
 
 You'd think he had ne'er opened Webster at all : 
 
 It^s only " Ah ! do you ? " or " Will you, my dove ? " 
 
 Or else it's ''I love," ''I love," and ''I love." 
 
 And when we walk out in the starry night, 
 Though he knows the Zodiac's rounded height, 
 With its Gemini, Scorpio, Leo, and all, — 
 Its satellites, planets, and nebulae small ; 
 
 118 
 
LITTLE WORDS. 
 
 And though m a flash he could fasten his eye on 
 Tlie Dipper, and Crown, and the Belt of Orion, 
 Not once does he mention the wonders above. 
 But just whispers softly, '' My own ! *' and '' I love ! " 
 
 Whenever they tease me — the girls and the boys — 
 
 With " Mrs. Professor " or " classical joys," 
 
 Or ask if his passion he deigns to speak 
 
 In Hebrew, or Sanscrit, or simple Greek, 
 
 I try to summon a look of steel. 
 
 And hide the joy that I really feel; 
 
 For they'd laugh still more if they knew the truth, 
 
 How meek a Professor can be, forsooth ! 
 
 Though well I know in the times to come 
 
 Great thoughts shall preside in our happy home. 
 
 And to hold forever his loving looks 
 
 I must bend my head over musty books. 
 
 And be as learned as ever I can. 
 
 To do full justice to such a man — 
 
 Yet the future is bright for, like song of birds. 
 
 My soul is filled with his little words. 
 
 Mary Elizabeth Dodge. 
 
 119 
 
OYER THE EIVER. 
 
 Over the river they beckon to me, 
 
 Loved ones who've crossed to the farther side ; 
 The gleam of their snowy robes I see, 
 
 But their voices are lost in the dashing tide. 
 There's one with ringlets of sunny gold. 
 
 And eyes the reflection of heaven's OAvn blue ; 
 He crossed in the twilight, gray and cold, 
 
 And the pale mist hid him from mortal view. 
 We saw not the angels who met him there. 
 
 The gates of the city we could not see : 
 Over the river, over the river, 
 
 My brother stands waiting to welcome me. 
 
 Over the river the boatman pale 
 
 Carried another, the household pet ; 
 Her brown curls wave in the gentle gale : 
 
 Darling Minnie ! I see her yet. 
 She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands. 
 
 And fearlessly entered the phantom bark ; 
 Wf' felt it glide from the silver sands. 
 
 And all our sunshine grew strangely dark. 
 We know she is safe on the farther side. 
 
 Where all the ransomed and angels be : 
 Over the river, the mystic river. 
 
 My childhood's idol is waiting for me. 
 120 
 
OVER THE RIVER. 
 
 For none return from those quiet shores, 
 
 Who cross with the boatman cold and pale. 
 We hear the dip of the golden oars, 
 
 And catch a gleam of the snoAvy sail ; 
 And lo ! they have passed from our yearning hearts : 
 
 Tliey cross the stream and are gone for aye. 
 We may not sunder the veil apart 
 
 That liides from our vision the gates of day ; 
 We only know that their barks no more 
 
 May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea ; 
 Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore, 
 
 They watch, and beckon, and wait for me. 
 
 And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold 
 
 Is flushing river and hill and shore, 
 I shall one day stand by the water cold 
 
 And list for the sound of the boatman's oar : 
 I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail, 
 
 I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand, 
 I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale, 
 
 To the better shore of the spirit-land. 
 I shall know the loved who have gone before. 
 
 And joyfully sweet will the meeting be, 
 When over the river, the peaceful river, 
 
 The Angel of Death shall carry me. 
 
 Nancy Amelia Woodhuhy Priest. 
 
 121 
 
DANIEL GRAY. 
 
 If I shall ever win the home in heaven 
 
 For whose sweet rest I hnmbly hope and pray, 
 
 In the great company of the forgiven 
 
 I shall be sure to find old Daniel Gray. 
 
 I knew him well ; in fact, few knew him better ; 
 
 For my young eyes oft read for him the Word, 
 And saw how meekly from the crystal letter 
 
 He drank the life of his beloved Lord. 
 
 Old Daniel Gray was not a man who lifted 
 On ready words his freight of gratitude, 
 
 Nor was he called among the gifted, 
 
 In the prayer meetings of his neighborhood. 
 
 He had a few old-fashioned words and phrases, 
 Linked in with sacred texts and Sunday rhymes ; 
 
 And I suppose that in his prayers and graces, 
 I've heard them all at least a thousand times. 
 
 1 see him now — his form, his face, his motions. 
 His homespun habit, and his silver hair, — 
 
 And hear the language of his trite devotions, 
 Risin behind the straio;ht-backed kitchen chair. 
 
 122 
 
DANIEL GRAY. 
 
 I can remember how the sentence sounded — 
 '' Help us, O Lord, to pray and not to faint I '' 
 
 And how the " conquering-and-to-conquer " rounded 
 The loftier aspirations of the saint. 
 
 He had some notions that did not improve him, 
 He never kissed his children — so they say ; 
 
 And finest scenes and fairest flowers would move him 
 Less than a horse-shoe picked up in the way. 
 
 He had a hearty hatred of oppression, 
 
 And righteous words for sin of every kind; 
 
 Alas, that the trans o-ress or and transo-ression 
 Were linked so closely in his honest mind. 
 
 He could see naught but vanity in beauty, 
 And naught but weakness in a fond caress. 
 
 And pitied men whose views of Christian duty 
 Allowed indulo;ence in such foolishness. 
 
 Yet there were love and tenderness within him ; 
 
 And I am told that when his Charley died, 
 Nor nature's need nor gentle words could win him 
 
 From his fond vigils at the sleeper's side. 
 
 And when they came to bury little Charley, 
 
 They found fresh dew-drops sprinkled in his hair, 
 
 And on his breast a rose-bud gathered early. 
 
 And guessed, but did not know, who ])laced it there. 
 
 128 
 
THE THANKLESS LADY. 
 
 Honest and faithful, constant in his calHng, 
 
 Strictly attendant on the means of grace, 
 Instant in prayer, and fearful most of falling, 
 
 Old Daniel Gray was always in his place. 
 
 A practical old man, and yet a dreamer, 
 
 He thought that in some strange, unlooked-for way 
 
 His mighty Friend in Heaven, the great Redeemer, 
 Would honor him with wealth some golden day. 
 
 This dream he carried in a hopeful spirit 
 
 Until in death his patient eye grew dim. 
 And his Redeemer called him to inherit 
 
 The heaven of wealth long garnered up for him. 
 
 So if I ever win the home in heaven 
 
 For whose sw^eet rest I humbly hope and pray. 
 
 In the great company of the forgiven 
 
 I shall be sure to find old Daniel Gray. 
 
 J. G. Holland. 
 
 THE THANKLESS LADY. 
 
 It is May, and the moon leans down all night 
 
 Over a blossomy land, 
 By her window sits the lady white, 
 
 With lier chin upon her hand. 
 
 124 
 
THE THANKLESS LADl. 
 
 '' O sino; to me, dear nio;htino;ale, 
 The song of a year ago ; 
 I have had enouo;h of lonmno; and wail. 
 Enough of heart-break and woe. 
 
 ^' O glimmer on me, my apple-tree, 
 Like the birthplace of the snow ; 
 Let odor and moonlight and melody 
 In one old harmony flow." 
 
 The dull odor swims ; the cold blossoms gleam ; 
 
 And the bird wdll not be glad. 
 Tlie dead never speak when the living dream, — 
 
 They are too weak and sad. 
 
 She listened and sate till night grew late. 
 
 Bound by a weary spell ; 
 Then a face came in at the garden-gate, 
 
 And a wondrous thing befell. 
 
 Uprose the joy as well as the love, 
 
 Li the song, in the scent, in the show ! 
 The moon grew glad in the sky above, 
 
 The blossoms grew rosy below. 
 
 May passed into June in the scent and the tune ; 
 
 They filled the veins of night ; 
 But they had no thanks for the granted boon, 
 
 For the lady forgot them quite. 
 
 Gkokge MacDonald 
 
 125 
 
WHEN STARS ARE IN THE QUIET SlvIES. 
 
 Whkn stars are in the quiet skies, 
 
 Then most I pine for tliee ; 
 Bend on me tlien tliy tender eyes, 
 
 As stars look on tlie sea. 
 For tliouglits, like waves that olide by night, 
 
 Are stillest when tliey shine ; 
 i-2r) 
 
AT LAST. 
 
 Mine eartlily love lies Imsliecl in liglit 
 Beneatli 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! 
 
 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 thee 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 Rulwek Lytton. 
 
 AT LAST. 
 
 O, THE years I lost before I knew you, 
 
 Love ! 
 O, the liills I cHinbed and came not to you. 
 
 Love ! 
 
 127 
 
AT LAST. 
 
 Ah ! who shall render unto iis to make 
 
 Us glad, 
 The thino^s which for and of each other's sake 
 
 o 
 
 We might Imve had ? 
 
 If you and I had sat and played together, 
 
 Love, 
 Two speechless babies in the summer Aveather, 
 
 Love, 
 By one sweet brook which though it dried up long 
 
 Ago, 
 Still makes for me to-day a sweeter song 
 Than all I know, — 
 
 If liand in hand throug-h the mysterious ratewav. 
 
 Love, 
 Of womanhood, we had first looked and straightwav, 
 
 Love, 
 Had whispered to each other softly, ere 
 
 It yet 
 Was dawn, what now in noonday heat and fear 
 We both forget, — 
 
 If all of this had given its completeness. 
 
 Love, 
 To every hour would it be added sweetness. 
 
 Love ? 
 Could I know sooner whether it Avere well 
 
 Or ill 
 With thee ? One Avish could I more surely tell. 
 More SAvift fulfil ? 
 
 128 
 
DINNA ASK ME. 
 
 Ah ! vainly tlius I sit and dream and ponder, 
 
 Love, 
 Losing the precious present wliile I wonder, 
 
 Love,"^ 
 About the days in which you grew and came 
 
 To be 
 So beautiful, and did not know the name 
 Or sight of nie. 
 
 But all lost things are in the angel's keeping, 
 
 Love ; 
 No past is dead for us, but only sleeping. 
 
 Love ; 
 The years of Heaven will all earth's little pain 
 
 Make good, 
 Too;ether there we can be^in ao;ain 
 In babvhood. 
 
 DINNA ASK ME. 
 
 O ! DINNA ask me gin I lo'e ye : 
 
 Troth, I daurna tell ! 
 Dinna ask me gin I h)'e ye ; 
 
 Ask it o' yourser. 
 1 •_>!) 
 
 H. ii 
 
A SPKNIXG-WHEEL SONG. 
 
 O, dinna look sae sair at me, 
 
 For weel ye ken me true ; 
 O, gin ve 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, 
 Gm ye'd prove fause to me ! 
 
 DUNLOP. 
 
 A SPINNING-WHEEL SONG. 
 
 Melloav the moonlio-ht to shine is bemnnino; ; 
 
 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 dvinor." 
 
 ' ' I/O 
 
 Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirrino;, 
 
 Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring, 
 
 130 
 
A SPINNlNG-WilEEL SONG. 
 
 Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, 
 
 Thrills the sweet voice of the youno; maiden sinmncr. 
 
 *^ What's that noise that I hear at the window, I wonder?^' 
 '' 'Tis the little hirds chirping the holly-bush under." 
 "'• AVhat makes yon be shoving and moving your stool on. 
 And sino-incT all wron<>' that old sonn- of 'The Coolun ? ' '' 
 There's a form at the easement — the form of her true K)ve ; 
 And he whis])ers, with fiee bent, '' Fm waiting for you, l(»\r. 
 
MY LOVE. 
 
 Get up on the stool, through the lattice step lightly ; 
 We'll rove in the grove while the moon's shining 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 di'owsy 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. 
 
 JoHX Francis Waller. 
 
 UY LOVE. 
 
 I. 
 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. 
 132 
 
MY LOVE. 
 
 II. 
 
 Great feelings hath she of her own, 
 Which lesser souls may never know ; 
 God giveth them to her alone, 
 And sweet they are as any tone 
 Wherewith the wind may choose 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 doetli little kindnesses, 
 
 Which most leave undone, or despise ; 
 
 For nauo:ht that sets one heart at ease. 
 
 And givetli happiness 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. 
 
 Blessino; she is : God made her so ; 
 And deeds of week-day holiness 
 
UY LOVE. 
 
 Fall from her noiseless as the snow ; 
 Nor hath she ever chanced to know 
 That aught were easier than to bless. 
 
 VII. 
 
 She is most fair, and theremito 
 Her life doth rightly harmonize ; 
 Feeling or thouglit 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 perfume, 
 Thouo;h 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 miglit, 
 Wliich, by high tower and lowly mill, 
 Goes wandering at its own will, 
 And vet doth ever flow ariMit. 
 
 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 Russell Lcwell 
 134 
 
LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM; A. D. 18- 
 
 ^' Thank you — niucli obliged, old boy ' 
 
 Yes, it's so ; report says true. 
 I'm eno-ao-ed to Nell Latine — 
 
 What else could a fellow do ? 
 Governor was getting fierce — 
 
 Asked me, with paternal frown, 
 When I meant to go to work, 
 
 Take a wife, and settle down I 
 Stormed at my extravagance, 
 
 Talked of cutting off suppHes, — 
 Fairly bullied me, you know ; 
 
 Sort of thing that I despise. 
 Then he'd pause, and sip his wine , 
 
 And remark, lic'd never seen 
 Any girl that plcnsml him morc^ 
 
 Than tliat youiigci' Miss Lntiiu\ — 
 1 'A:) 
 
LOVE'S YOUNG DEE AM; A. D. 18—. 
 
 Well, you knoAV, I lost worst way 
 At tlie races, — Governor raged ; — 
 
 So, to sort of smooth liim down, 
 I went off and got engaged. 
 
 Sort of put up thing, you see, — 
 
 All arranged with old Latine, — 
 Nelly raved about it first, 
 
 Said her ' pa was awful mean ! ' 
 Now it's done we don't much mind - 
 
 Tell the truth, 1 'm rather glad ; 
 Looking at it every way, 
 
 Une must own it isn't bad. 
 She's quite pretty, rather rich : 
 
 Mother left her quite a pile ; 
 Dances, goes out everywhere ; 
 
 Fine old family, real good style. 
 Then she's good^ as girls go now — 
 
 Some idea of wrong and right, — 
 Don't let every man she meets 
 
 Kiss her on the self-same nigiht. 
 136 
 
LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM; A. D. 18—. 
 
 Jove ! the way some girls will act, 
 
 Who've been out a year or two! 
 Don't know what they'd blush to hear ; 
 
 What they wouldn't say and do. — 
 We don't do affection much ; 
 
 Nell and I are real good friends ; 
 Call there often ; sit, and chat ; 
 
 Take her ' round, and there it ends. 
 Spooning ! Well, I tried it once — 
 
 Acted like an awful calf: 
 Said I really loved her ; then 
 
 You should just have heard her laugh ! 
 Why ! she ran me for a month ; 
 
 Teased me till she made me wince : 
 
 ' Mustn't flirt with her ! ' she said, 
 So, I haven't done it since. — 
 
 ' Twould be pleasant to be loved 
 As you read about in books, — 
 
 Mincrlino; souls, and o;entle eves, — 
 Love, and tluit, in all tlunr looks ; 
 i:J7 
 
THE MIGHT OF OXE FAIR FACE. 
 
 Thoughts of you, and no one else ; 
 
 Voice that has a tender ring ; 
 Sacrifices made, and — well — 
 
 Yon know — all that sort of thing. 
 All that's worn-out talk, they say, — 
 
 Don't see any of it now — 
 Spooning on your fiancee 
 
 Isn't good style, anyhow. 
 Just suppose that one of us, — 
 
 Nell and me, you know, — some day, 
 Gets like that, on some one else. 
 
 Might be rather awkward ! — eh ? 
 All in earnest^ like the books — 
 
 Wouldn't it be awful rough ! 
 Jove ! if I — but pshaw ! what bosh ! 
 
 Nell and I are safe enouo;h. — 
 Take place in the Spring, I think ; 
 
 You'll be there, and wish me joy ? 
 Be a groomsman, if you like ; 
 .Lots of fan. Good-bye, old boy." 
 
 George A. Baker, J t. 
 
 THE MIGHT OF ONE FAIR FACE, 
 
 The might of one fair face subhmes my love, 
 For it hatli weaned my heart from low desires ; 
 Nor death I need, nor purgatorial fires : 
 Thy beauty, antepast of joys above, 
 
 138 
 
TO PERILLA. 
 
 Instructs me in the bliss that saints approve ; 
 
 For O, how good, how beautiful, must be 
 
 The God that made so good a thing as thee, 
 
 So fair an image of the heavenly Dove ! 
 
 Forgive me if I cannot turn away 
 
 From those sweet eyes that are my earthly heaven, 
 
 For they are guiding stars, benignly given 
 
 To tempt my footsteps to the upward way ; 
 
 And if I dwell too fondly in thy sight, 
 
 I live and love in God's peculiar light. 
 
 Michael Angklo. (Italian.) 
 rrmslation of Haiitley Coleridge. 
 
 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 will 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 wind me in that very sheet 
 
 Which wrapt thy smooth limbs when thou didst imploro 
 
 The gods' protection, but the night before. 
 
 Follow me, weeping, to my turf; and there 
 
 Let fall a primrose, and with it a tear. 
 
 I'M) 
 
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 Herrick. 
 
 ON" 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 Avert dying, 
 From eyes unused to weep ; 
 
 And lono; where tliou art lyino- 
 
 Will tears the cold turf steep. 
 
 When hearts whose truth was proven, 
 Like thine, are laid in eartli, 
 
 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 ; 
 140 
 
AKAB LOVE. 
 
 But I 've in vain essayed it, 
 And feel I cannot now. 
 
 While memory bids me weep thee, 
 Nor thoughts nor words are free : 
 
 The grief is fixed too deeply 
 
 That mourns a man like thee. 
 
 Fitz-Greexe Halleck. 
 
 ARAB LOVE. 
 
 My faint spirit w^as sitting in the light 
 
 Of thy looks, my love ; 
 It panted for thee, like the hind at noon 
 
 For the brooks, my love. 
 Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight, 
 
 Bore thee far from me ; 
 My heart — for my weak feet were weary soon — 
 
 Did companion tliee. 
 
 Ah ! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed. 
 
 Or the deatli they bear, 
 The heart which tender thought clotlies, like a dove, 
 
 With the wMugs of care ; 
 In the battle, in tlie darkness, in the need. 
 
 Shall mine cling to thee ; 
 
 Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love. 
 
 It may bring to thee. 
 
 Peucy Byssiie Shkilev. 
 
 141 
 
HOW'S MY BOY 
 
 '' Ho, sailor of the sea I 
 
 How's my boy — my boy?" 
 
 '' What's your boy's name, good wh'e, 
 
 And in what good slnp sailed he?" 
 
 " My boy John, 
 He that went to sea ; 
 What care I for the ship, sailor? 
 My boy's my boy to me. 
 142 
 
HOW^S MY BOY? 
 
 *' You come back from sea, 
 
 And not know my John ? 
 
 I miglit as well have asked some landsman. 
 
 Yonder down in the town ; 
 
 There's not an ass in all the parish 
 
 But he knows my John. 
 
 " How's my boy — my boy ? 
 
 And unless you let me know, 
 
 I'll 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 Avas loud as I am proud 
 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. 
 Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound 
 Her owners can aff()rd her ! 
 I say, how's my John ? " 
 "Every man on board went down, 
 Every man aboard her." 
 
 143 
 
SHE'S GANE TO DWALL IN HE A YEN. 
 
 " How's my boy — my boy ? 
 What care I for the men , sailor ? 
 I'm not theu^ mother. 
 How's my boy — my boy? 
 Tell me of him and no other. 
 How's my boy — my boy?" 
 
 Sydney Dobell. 
 
 SHE'S GANE TO DWALL IN HE A YEN. 
 
 She's gane to dwall in Heaven, my lassie ! 
 
 She's gane to dwall in Heaven : 
 Ye 're owre pure, quo' the voice o' God, 
 
 For dwallin' out o' Heaven ! 
 
 O what'll she do in Heaven, my lassie ? 
 
 O wliatll she do in Heaven ? 
 She'll mix her ain thochts wi' angels' sangs, 
 
 An' mak them mair meet for Heaven. 
 
 She was beloved by a', my lassie : 
 
 She was beloved by a' ; 
 But an angel fell in love wi' her, 
 
 An' took her frae us a'. 
 
 Low there thou lies, my lassie ! 
 
 Low there thou lies ! 
 A bonnier form ne'er went to the yird, 
 
 Nor frae it will arise. 
 144 
 
SHE'S GANE TO DAVALL IX HEAVEN. 
 
 Fu' soon I'll follo\\ thee, my lassie : 
 
 Fu' soon I'll follow thee. 
 Thou's left me naught to covet ahin', 
 
 But took gudeness' sel' wi' thee. 
 
 I looked on thy death-caul d face, my lassie , 
 
 I looked on thy death-cauld face : 
 Thou seemed a lily new cut i' the bud, 
 
 An' fadin' in its place. 
 
 1 looked on thy death-shut eye, my lassie : 
 
 I looked on thy death-shut eye ; 
 An' a lovelier light in the brow o' Heaven 
 
 Fell Time shall ne'er destroy. 
 
 Thy lips were ruddy an' calm, my lassie : 
 
 Thy lips were ruddy an' calm ; 
 But gane was the holy breath o' Heaven 
 
 To sing the evening psalm. 
 
 There's naught but dust now mine, lassie : 
 
 There's naufiht but dust now mine. 
 My soul's wi' thee i' the cauld grave. 
 
 An' why should I stay ahin'? 
 
 Ali.ax Cunxinc.ham. 
 
 m:> 
 
JAMES MELVILLE'S CHILD. 
 
 One time my soul was pierced as Avith a sword, 
 Contendino; still with men mitauo;ht and wild, 
 
 When He who to the prophet lent his gourd 
 Gave me the solace of a pleasant child. 
 
 A summer gift, my precious flower was giyen , 
 A yery summer fi'agrance was its life ; 
 
 Its clear eyes soothed me as the blue of heayen, 
 When home I turned, a weary man of strife. 
 
 With unformed laughter, musically sweet, 
 
 How soon the wakening babe would meet my kiss : 
 
 With outstretched arms, its care-wrouMit father o-reet I 
 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 neryed me for my part, 
 And of the babe I was exceeding glad. 
 
 Alas I my pretty bud, scarce formed, was dying ; 
 
 (The prophet's gourd, it withered in a night I) 
 And He who gave me all, my heart's pulse trying, 
 
 Took gently home the child of my delight. 
 
 146 
 
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 fadino; flower I bade his mother brino-, 
 
 That we might commune of our rest in Heaven, 
 Gazing the while on death, without its sting. 
 
 And of the ransom for that baby paid 
 
 So very sweet at times our converse seemed. 
 
 That the sure truth of grief a gladness made : 
 Our little lamb by God's own Lamb redeemed ! 
 
 Tliere were two milk-white doves, my wife had nourisliee 
 And I too loved, ere while, at times to stand 
 
 Marking how each the other fondly cherished. 
 And fed them from my baby's dimpled hand ! 
 
 So tame they grew that, to his cradle flyini:. 
 Full oft they cooed him to his noontide rest : 
 
 And to the murmurs of his sleep reply! no-. 
 Crept gently in, and nestled iu his hreast. 
 
 117 
 
'Twas a fair sight : the snow-pale infant sieepnig, 
 So fondly guardianed by those creatures mild, 
 
 Watch o'er his closed eyes their bright eyes keeping ; 
 Wondrous the love betwixt the birds and child I 
 
 Still as he sickened seemed the doves too dwining, 
 Forsook their food, and loathed their pretty play ; 
 
 And on the day he 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 when, at last, the little spirit parted. 
 The dove died too, as if of its heart-chilL 
 
 148 
 
TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 
 
 The other flew to meet my sad home-riding, 
 
 As with a human sorrow in its coo ; 
 To my dead child and its dead mate tlien guidini:, 
 
 Most pitifully plained — and parted too. 
 
 'Twas my first hansel and propine to Heaven ; 
 
 And as I laid my darhng 'neath the sod, 
 Precious His comforts — once an infant given. 
 
 And offered with two turtle-doves to God ! 
 
 Mks. a. Stuart Mkntkath. 
 
 TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 
 
 Tiiou 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 I 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
 Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his 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 ])arting love ? 
 
 149 
 
TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 
 
 Eternity will not efface 
 
 Those records dear of transports past, 
 Thy image at our last embrace: 
 
 Ah I little thought we 'twas our last ! 
 
 Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, 
 
 O'erhung with wild woods, thickening, green , 
 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 channels deeper wear. 
 My Mary ! dear, departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
 Seest thou tliy lover lowly laid? 
 
 Hear'st tlion the o-roans that rend his breast ? 
 
 RoBEKT Burns 
 
 150 
 
AH, CHLORIS! 
 
 Ah, Chloris ! that I now could sit 
 As unconcerned as when 
 
 Your infant beauty could beget 
 No pleasure nor no pain ! 
 
 When I tl]e dawn used to admire, 
 And praised the coming day, 
 
 I little thou£i;ht the P-rowino; fire 
 Must take my rest away. 
 
 Your charms in harmless childhood lay, 
 Like metals in the mine : 
 
 Age from no face took more away 
 
 Than youth concealed in thine. 
 
 But as your charms, msensibly, 
 To their perfection prest. 
 
 Fond love as unperceived did fly. 
 And in my bosom rest. 
 
 My passion with your beauty grew ; 
 
 And Cupid, at my heart, 
 Still, as his mother fivoivd you, 
 
 Threw a new flaming dart. 
 
SIXTEEN. 
 
 Each gloried in their wanton part : 
 
 To make a lovei*, he 
 Emjjloyed the utmost of his art ; 
 
 To make a beauty, slie. 
 
 Though now I slowly bend to love, 
 
 Uncertain of my fate, 
 Tf your fair self my chains approve 
 
 I shall my freedom hate. 
 
 Lovers, like dying men, may well 
 
 At first disordered be — 
 Since none ahve can truly tell 
 
 What fortune they must see. 
 
 Sir Charles Skdley. 
 
 SIXTEEN. 
 
 In Clementina's artless mien 
 
 Lucilla asks me what I see — 
 And are the roses of sixteen 
 Enough for me ? 
 
 Lucilla asks, if that be all 
 
 Have I not culled as sweet before ? 
 Ah yes, Lucilla ! and their fall 
 I still deplore. 
 
 I now behold another scene, 
 
 Where pleasure beams with heaven's ow^n light 
 152 
 
IN VAIN YOU TELL. 
 
 More pure, more constant, more serene, 
 And not less bright : 
 
 Faith, on whose breast the loves repose, 
 
 Whose chain of flowers no force can sever. 
 And Modesty, who, w^hen she goes. 
 
 Is gone forever. 
 
 Walter Savage Laxdou 
 
 IN VAIN YOU TELL. 
 
 In vain you tell your parting lover 
 You wish fair winds may waft him over : 
 Alas ! what winds can happy prove 
 That bear me far from what I love ? — 
 Can equal those that I sustain 
 From slighted vows and cold disdain ? 
 
 Be gentle, and in pity choose 
 
 To wish the wildest tempests loose, 
 
 That, thrown again upon the coast 
 
 Where first my shipwrecked heart was lost, 
 
 I may once more repeat my pain — 
 
 Once more in dying notes complain 
 
 Of sliirhted vows and cold disdain. 
 
 Matthew Pkiok 
 
 Kj:) 
 
BREAK, BREAK, BREAK I 
 
 Break, break, break, 
 
 On thy cold gray stones, O Sea I 
 And I would that my tongue could uttei 
 
 Tlie thoughts that arise m me. 
 
 O well for the fisherman's boy. 
 
 That he shouts with his sister at play 
 
 O well for the sailor lad, 
 
 Tliat he sings in his boat on the bay 
 ir)4 
 
Ana the stately ships go on 
 
 To the haven under the hill ; 
 Hut 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 ! 
 P)nt the tender grace of a day that is dead 
 
 Will never come back to me. 
 
 AM'KF.I) Tkwyson 
 
 TITR PASSAGE. 
 
 Many a year is in its gra^•e 
 Since I crossed this ivstless wave 
 And the evening, fair as c\ cm\ 
 Shiiu^s on rnin, rock, and river. 
 
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, Avhene'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 twain have crossed witli me. 
 
 JoHANN LuDWiG Uhlaud. (German.) 
 
 Anonymous Translation. 
 
 156 
 
II^DEX OF FIEST LI.N"ES. 
 
 ^« PAGE 
 
 Abou Ben Adhem (mat his tribe increase ! ) Hunt 111 
 
 Ae fond kiss AND THEN WE SEVER ! Bums 28 
 
 Ah, Chloris 1 that I now could sit Sedley .... 151 
 
 Ah, my Perilla ! dost thou grieve to see Herridc. . . . 130 
 
 All day long till the west was red McKay 12 
 
 " All's well " — How the musical sound Preston 76 
 
 All thoughts, all passions, all delights S. T. Coleridge 33 
 
 Although I enter not Thackeray 64 
 
 As I SAW FAIR Chloris walk alone Anonymous 31 
 
 As some poor piteous Lapp, who under firs //. // 116 
 
 Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe Anonymous .... 37 
 
 Beyond the smiling and the weeping Bonar 21 
 
 Break, break, break Tennyson 1 54 
 
 C. 
 
 Come in the evening, or come in the morning Dan's 71 
 
 Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas Mulocli .... 48 
 
 Day, in melting purple dying ! Brooks. 
 
 Drink to me only with thine eyes Bm Jonson . 
 
 Drink ye to her that each loves best Camj^l'dl . 
 
 112 
 
 w 
 
 Farewell ! but whenever you welcome the hour ^f(Mnr. ... 40 
 
 Fear no more the heat o' the sun Shaksptiur . . . . 62 
 
 Genteel in personage Fitlding .... OS 
 
 Green be the turf ahovi: Tin:ic I/alltck' .... 1 40 
 
 (jO wiii:iiE the wateii (ri^iDEiii (JENTLY ever Ixrynolds. ... 42 
 
 157 
 
IXDEX OF FIEST LIXES. 
 
 H. 
 
 Her suffering ended with the day ... Aldrich . 
 
 He stood beside a cottage loxe Hei-vey . 
 
 Ho, sailor of the sea ! Dobell . 
 
 Home they brought her warrior dead Tennyson. 
 
 How wise he is ! He can talk in Greek ! 21. E. Dodge. 
 
 I. 
 
 I CANNOT 3IAKE HIM DEAD I Plerpont. 
 
 T FILL THIS CUP TO ONE 3IADE UP Plnhiey . 
 
 If I shall ever avin the home in heaven Holland. 
 
 If this fair rose offend thy sight Anonymous. 
 
 I HAVE NO NAME BlaJce . 
 
 I KNOW A MAIDEN FAIR TO SEE LongfelloW . 
 
 I KNOW HER. THE THING OF LACES, AND SILKS StOHJ . 
 
 I LOVED THEE LONG AND DEARLY CooJce. 
 
 In Clementina's artless 3iien Landor. 
 
 In tain you tell your parting lover Prior . 
 
 It is ]May, and the moon leans down all night JIacDonald . 
 
 It was many and many a year ago Poe . 
 
 It was the autumn of the year ; Florence Percy. 
 
 J. 
 
 Jenny kissed me when we met Hunt . 
 
 I- 
 
 Let time and chance combine, combine Carlyle . 
 
 Lift up your heads, ye gates ! swing wide Coles . 
 
 Like a poet in the splendor Cary . 
 
 Love not me for comely grace. Anonymous . 
 
 31. 
 
 Many a year is in its grave Uhland. 
 
 Mellow the 3ioonlight to shine is beginning J. F. Waller. 
 
 My dear and only love, I pray Grahame. 
 
 My faint spirit was sitting in the light Shelley. 
 
 My little love, do you remember Robert Eulwer Lytton. 
 
 My love he bcilt me a bonny bower Anonymous. 
 
 N. 
 
 Not as all other wo3ien are J. R. Lowell. 
 
 158 
 
 45 
 
 \5 
 
 142 
 
 99 
 118 
 
 39 
 
 51 
 
 122 
 
 63 
 
 48 
 
 82 
 
 96 
 
 9 
 
 152 
 
 153 
 
 124 
 
 4 
 
 84 
 
 47 
 
 0/ 
 
 20 
 
 68 
 117 
 
 155 
 130 
 
 24 
 141 
 
 74 
 108 
 
 132 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 ! A WEDDING ring's PRETTY TO WEAR Douglas . 
 
 O DIG A GRAVE, AND DIG IT DEEP Roscoe . 
 
 O ! DINNA ASK ME GIN I LO'e YE "^ Dnii'ojJ. 
 
 O, MY love's LIKE THE STEADFAST SUN CunnlrKjIiCliU . 
 
 One time my soul was pierced as with a sword Menteath. 
 
 O ! SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY's BLOOM Bt/iOH . 
 
 O, THE YEARS I LOST BEFORE I KNEW YOU H. H. 
 
 Over the river, on the hill Rose Terry . 
 
 Over the river they beckon to me Priest . 
 
 S. 
 
 She IS A MAID OF ARTLESS GRACE 
 
 She IS NOT fair to outward view 
 
 She's gane to dwall in Heaven, my lassie ! . 
 She was a phantom of delight 
 
 Longfellow . 
 
 .Hartley Coleridge. 
 
 Cunningham. 
 
 Wordsworth . 
 
 Since there's no helpe — come, let us kiss and parte!.... Drayton. 
 
 Sleep on, my love, in thy cold bed King. 
 
 Sleep ! The ghostly winds are blowing Procter. 
 
 Somebody sent me a dear little note Thompson . 
 
 Sweet in her green dell the flower of beauty slumbers Darley. 
 
 T. 
 
 Take, take, those lips away Shakspeare and Fletcher. 
 
 Thank you — much obliged, old boy ! Baker. 
 
 That which her slender waist confined E. Waller. 
 
 The conference-meeting through at last Stedman. 
 
 The egg of a little bird Dii(fi<ld. 
 
 The gray sea, and the long black land R. Browning. 
 
 The love that I ha'e chosen Anonymous . 
 
 The might of one fair face sublimes my love Hartley Coleridge . 
 
 They tell me I am shrewd with other men Hour. 
 
 Thou hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie Cunningham . 
 
 Thou lingering star, with lessening ray Bums. 
 
 Three student-comrades crossed over the Khini: Lehind and Palnur . 
 
 To FAIR Fi dele's grassy tomb Collins. 
 
 To make my lady's obsequies //• /'. ( '('/•//. 
 
 Too LATE I stayed — FORGIVE THE CRIME Spemrr . 
 
 We HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER 
 
 150 
 
 . Norton . 
 
 \o:] 
 
INDEX OF FIRST FIXES. 
 
 What shall I do with all the days axd houes Butler. ... 5L» 
 
 When liate o' eights, above the geeex Barnes 5 
 
 When spring, to woods and wastes abound Bryant 29 
 
 When stars are in the quiet skies Edward BuJwer Lytton 126 
 
 When tour beauty appears ParneJl 58 
 
 Where shall the lover rest Scott 94 
 
 Who3I riRST WE love, you know, we SELD03I WED Robert Bill wer Li/fton ... . 49 
 
 Why SITS she thus in solitude ? Her heart Welhj . ... 87 
 
 Why so pale and wan. eond lover ? Suckling. ... 83 
 
 AYhy thus longing, thus eorever sighing Winslow. . . . 59' 
 
 '' Yes ! " I answered you last night E. B. Browning 91 
 
 You MAT G*TE OVER PLOUGH, BOYS Dohtll . . . 104 
 
 160 
 
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