Illustrated Library of Favorite Song, ed. by J. G. Holland
Author: Unknown
Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Making of America Books Basic | Boolean | Proximity |

Bibliographic | Search History

UMDL Texts home U of M login View bookbag your bookbag has 0 items

Home Search BrowseHelp

list of all pages | add to bookbag

Title:Illustrated library of favorite song. Based upon folk-songs, and comprising songs of the heart, songs of home, songs of life, and songs of nature. With an introduction, and ed. by J. G. Holland.

Illustrated with one hundred and twenty-five engravings, after designs by Church, Johnson, Darley, Hoppin, Nast, Hennessy, Moran, Griswold, etc., and with twenty autographs in facsimile.

Author:Holland, J. G. (Josiah Gilbert), 1819-1881. ed.

Availability:These pages may freely searched and displayed.

Permission must be received for subsequent distribution in print or electronically. Please contact umdl-info@umich.edu for more information.

Print Source:Illustrated library of favorite song. Based upon folk-songs, and comprising songs of the heart, songs of home, songs of life, and songs of nature. With an introduction, and ed. by J. G.

Holland. Illustrated with one hundred and twenty-five engravings, after designs by Church, Johnson, Darley, Hoppin, Nast, Hennessy, Moran, Griswold, etc., and with twenty autographs in facsimile.

Holland, J. G. (Josiah Gilbert), 1819-1881. ed.

2 p. L., [7]-721 p. illus. (incl. facsims.) 24 cm.

New York,

Scribner, Armstrong, and company;

Chicago,

Hadley brothers & Kane

[c1873]

Page 3 view page image

~tluztratc Librarp OF FAVORITE SONG.

Page 4 view page image

I~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Page 5 view page image

ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY OF FAV O R I T EQ BASED UPON FOLK SONGS, AND

COMPRISING SONGS OF THE HEART, SONGS OF HOME, SONGS OF LIFE, AND SONGS OF

NATURE. WITII AN INTR()DUCTION, *’,\ ANDT EDITED BY J.G:’ NOLLAND, AUTHOR

OF “BITTER SWEET,” “KATHRINA,’ ETC., ETC. ILLUSTRATED WITHII ONE HUNDRED

AND TWENTY-FIVE ENGRAVINGS, AFTER DESIGNS BY CHURCH, JOHNSON, DARLEY, HOPPIN, NAST, HENNESSY, MORAN, GRISWOLD, ETC. AND WITII TWENTY AUTOGRAPHS

IN FACSIMILE. Solcd only by Subscription. ~ ~~~~Igj -?!?.’ Z

NEW YORK: SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, AND COMPANY. CHICAGO HADLI,EY BROTHERS &

KANE. Date………………. rlce…………. Date………..j……..

1,..‘U.! i iI C QClic”.GLS r’rr,7. iI,,, -il I

Page 6 view page image

w Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by QCRInNER, ARMSTRONG, & COMPANY, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington LANGE. LI.TTL & HILLMAN, PRINTERSY 108 TO 114 WOOSTER STREET, N. Y. 6 0o.

Page 7 view page image

1, /- by (P INTRODUCTION. IT is profoundly interesting to notice the unanimity with which the public judgment settles at last upon those poems which are worthy to receive the boon of immortality. One after another, by a process which no man takes the trouble to study, they pass beyond the sphere of criticism into that of universal acceptance. Some of them, recognized as loyal in their construction and material to the highest canons of literary art, come to be regarded as classics. These, though not unfrequently popular, are not always so; but the popular mind never questions them, or, if it do, it is humbly to search for their secret.

Others, though they fail to win the position of classics, are so vital in their inspiration, so stimulating in their influence, so significant as the embodiment of human passion or human experience, that, in a great degree independent of their literary merits, the people crown them as their favorites. No collection of poems can be complete, of course, that does not embrace both these classes; and many collections have been made which have undertaken, and, more or less ol 1, , -1 i

Page 8 view page image

INTRODUCTION. successfully, accomplished this result. Still the distinction exists and forms the basis of a classification about which one may definitely write, and on which new combinations and collections may be framed. Popular poems are popular treasures, and there is probably no intelligent American into whose nature and culture the poetic element enters in the smallest degree, who does not hold and cherish in his heart the music of more than one. He finds some line, or stanza, or complete poem, so full of light and hope and courage, or so charged with the expression of his highest and deepest feeling, or so declarative of his grandest thought, or so redolent of his sentiment, that he adopts and uses it as a form in which he bears or breathes that sacred part of his life which has given it sympathetic response. Pets of the fancy, favorites of the imagination, chosen vehicles of aspiration, selected companions for seasons of joy or sorrow or peaceful solitude, the popular poems of the mother tongue - than which there is none sweeter or stronger - are among the best things we possess, and deserve, next to the Book of Books, the highest place in our households. A noteworthy fact in connection with the production of popular poems, is, that but few writers, however high their names may stand upon the roll of fame, have been able to write more than one or two that possess all the qualities essential to procure their universal and affectionate approval. Their position as poets may not rest to any considerable extent, even, on these. It is not the great poems that men 8

Page 9 view page image

INTRODUCTION. write which win our affections. A thousand fames rest upon admiration -fames of men whom we have learned to love only through a little poem to whose utterance they have been touched by some common experience or aspiration, and by which they have opened for themselves a door to the heart of humanity. So, in the works of all the writers of verse, popular poems stand exceptional and lonely; and it is only by learning what and where they are, and collecting them in a single volume, that the great masses of the people are able to possess them. A volume made up of these, judiciously and faithfully selected, is a treasure which should be in the possession of every man and woman, and every home. The present volume has been selected from the wide range of English verse by no less than three skillful and sympathetic hands, with the definite object of bringing together the popular poems of the language, embracing not only those which are purely popular, but a large number of those considered classical and popular at the same time. Tennyson’s “Bugle Song,” Stoddard’s” It never comes again,” Whittier’s “Maud Miiller” and Poe’s “Raven,” are all modern, popular poems, that are’ taking on, or have already taken on, the character of classics; but nobody would think of designating “The Old Oaken Bucket” and “Sweet Home” as classical poems.

These have become popular through their appeal to, or expression of, popular sentiment, and not through any literary merits which they possess.

So, if the literary reader miss in this collection many of the gems of classic poetry, he will only need to remember that no poem in the volume was selected with reference only to its classical character. 9

Page 10 view page image

INTRODUCTION. While it is generally understood that pictures “speak for themselves, and need no introduction, it is so rare that an illustrated book can boast the names and exhibit the work of our best artists, that is impossible to do justice to this volume without an allusion to the eminence of its illustrators and the excellence of its engravings.

Eytinge, White, Nast, Hennessey, Hoppin, Boughton, Ehnringer, McEntee, Darley, Fenn, Church, Johnson, Kensett, - these are only a few of the eminent artists whose pictures are to be found in the book, and it may legitimately be doubted whether any volume of verse ever published in America has called to its illustration al equal array of talent universally acknowledged to be eminent. With these brief words of introduction the volume is coirdially commended to the public, as one not only good in itself, in that it contains the popular element of a whole library of verse, classsic and otherwise, but good as an influence upon the every-day life of the world. To make one’s self and one’s family familiar with the poems of this volume, is to take many steps in the direction of the purest and highest culture, alike of the heart and the intellect. As a fireside companion, as a book to be taken up in broken hours, as a corrective of the influence of the trash poured out by the periodical press, as a minister to pure tastes, refined pleasures, and the love of home, country, man and God, I know of nothing better than this, and I can hardly utter a more kindly wish for a hundred thousand homes than that it may pass into an honored position in every one of them. J. G.

H. 10

Page 11 view page image

CONTENTS. PAG]R SONGS OF HOME…………………….17 SONGS OF THE

HEART…………………….. 205 SONGS OF

NATURE…………………… 361 SONGS

OF-LIFE……………………… 52J . \

Page 12 view page image

I

Page 13 view page image

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. sUBcJ. DRAWN BY ENGRAvED BY PAGI SONGS OF HOME. THE

COTTER’S SATURDAY NIGHT ” Th’ expectant weethings”

I…………….Chapman………………..Filmer…. 20 “‘Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair ” Chapman………………..Filmer…. 24

“The priest-like father reads the sacred page “Chapman………………..Filmer…. 27 “The parent-pair their secret homage pay “. Chapman………………..Filmer…. 29 THE

BUCKET…………………………. C. C. Griswold………W. J.

Linton…. 32 THE DAYS THAT ARE NO

MORE…………..Hennessy…………..W. J. Linton…. 36 THE

ERL-KING…………………Meffert………… MJ. H. Whitney…. 41

EPITHALAMIUM……………………….C. C. Griswold………W. J.

Linton…. 47 EDWARD,

EDWARD……………………..Ehninger…………………Hayes…. 49

Lucy……………………………-…..Macdonough…….Andrew &

Filmer…. 60 CRADLE SONG………………………Hennessy………….

W. J. Linton…. 65 JEANIE

MORRISON……………………..Boughton……… Andrew & Filmer…. 70

THE JOINERS “The moon is round and
big”…………..Macdonougli……………Anthony…. 74 “Two figures cross the Joiners’ sill”………Macdonough……………Anthollyv…. 76

“But coldly welcomes’ the coming guest’.

Macdonough……………Anthony…. 78 HANNAH BINDING

SHOES………………..Hoppin………………. Cox… 88 SIR

MARMADUE………… Nast……………………………Anthony…. 93

THE FIRST

SNOW-FALL………………..Fenn……………………Harley…. 97 THE

FISHERMEN………………….Fenn………………..W. J. Linton….

107 THE SANDS o’ DEEI ” O Mary, go and call the cattle home”…..

Macdonough……………Anthony…. 11l “The creeping tide came up along the sand ” Macdonough……………….. Cox… 112 “Her grave beside the sea”…………. Macdonough……………….Cox…. 113 MAUD MULLER -

“The meadow, sweet with hay”…………Hill……………Andrew &

Filmer…. 123 “A form more fair, a face more sweet “…..Macdonough A…………Anthony…. 126 “The little spring brook”………………Hill……………Bobbett & Hooper…. 128 THOSE

EVENING BELLS…………………Fenn………………….W. J.

Linton…. 139 THE FISHER’S COTTAGE…………………C. C.

Griswold………W. J. Linton…. 145 OLD “One sweet spirit broke the silent spell”…Hennessy………………….Cox 148 “Brook, and bridge, and barn”………….Barry……………………..Cox…. 151 A SNOW-STORM - “‘Tis a fearful night in the winter time ””……………………… 155 ” Cold and dead by the hidden log “…….McEntee…………………… 158 BLOSSOM-TIl………

Fenn……………Fenn………….. A. W. Drake…. 168 PHILP, MY

KING………………………E. J. Whitney……………Hayes…. 180

ENGRAVED BY PAGS

Page 14 view page image

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. SUBJECT. DRAWN BY ENGRAVXD BY PAaX BINGEN ON THE

RHINE “A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers “Meffert…………

Bobbett & Hooper… 187 “Tell my sister not to weep for me “………Meffert…………Bobbett & Hooper…. 189 “Fair Bingen on the Rhine”…………….Meffert…………………….Cox…. 190 SEVEN

TIMES ONE………………………E. J. Whitney………….. Hayes….

196

LULLABY…………………………..Macdonouglh………..Langridge….

200 SONGS OF THE HEART. THE DOORSTEP…………………………Miss Hallock………..W. J. Linton…. 207 TIlE LANDLADY’S

DAUGHTER…………….Nast…………………..Anthony…. 214 MAKING

PORT…………………………R. S. Gifford……………Filmer….

218 TIHE Two VILLAGES……………….T.

Moran……………….Annin…. 224 Too LATE I STAYED……………………Miss Hallock……………..Bogert…. 229

THE MURDERED

TRAVELLER…………….McEntee……………………Cox…. 235 THINK

OF ME……………………..Mrs. T. Moran……………Bogert…. 248

JENNY KISSED ME……………………..Hoppin………..Bobbett &

Hooper…. 253 DOLLY SULLIVAN “You then can have choice of the men “…..Miss Ledyard…………MacDonald…. 260 “Old Dolly Sullivan shook her gray head “..Miss Ledyard…………MacDonald…. 262 AT THE CHURCH

GATE………………….Bolles……………..W.J.Linton…. 270 THE

WELCOME…………………………M
acdonough…………..Langridge…. 278 ON A GIRDLE………………………. Hoppin……………………Cox….

284 SONG “Drink ye to her that each loves best”……Wallin…………………Anthony…. 296

Tail-piece…………………………….Wallin…………………Anthony….

297 A MUSICAL Box…………………….. Miss Ledyard…………MacDonald…. 302 MEETING AND

PARTING………………….T. Moran…………………Annin…. 306

T()[tiY’S

DEAD………………………..Eytinge………………..Anthony….

310 SONG………………………………….Miss Hallock………………Treat…. 318 POLAR

DAYS…………………………..T. Moran…………………Annin….

322 WIDEN STARS ARE IN THE QUIET SKIES……Miss Hallock………………Treat…. 332 A SI-INNIXG-WYHEEL

SONGo……………….Hennessy………Bobbett & Hooper…. 337 How’s MIY BoY………………………..Macdonough………….Kinnersley….

346 JAMES MELVILLE’S CHIL

D……………….Ehninger…………………Hayes…. 352 BREAK, BREAK, BREAK! “Oi thy cold gray stones, O sea!

“……….Parsons……………Anthony…. 358 “And the stately ships go on”…………..Parsons………………..Anthony…. 359 SONGS OF

NATURE. A FOREST HYMN……………………….Thomas Moran………James Miller…. 363 MIGNONETTE…………………….

Mary A. Hallock………J P. Davis…. 368 WIND AND R AI N……………………….Kensett………………..Anthony…. 376

THE COUNT’S LITTLE DAUGHTER - “Slow moved the great procession”………..Alfred Kappes……………Nichols…. 381 “Laid his hand on his firstborn’s head”….. Alfred Kappes……………Wevill…. 382 “Mid flowers and sunlight there”………..Alfred Kappes………….Juengling…. 383 “As a play-ground that smiling garden”…. Alfred Kappes………..MacDonald….

384 “O’er the gray old German city”…….. Alfred Kappes…………………….. 385 HYMN TO THE

FLOWERS…………………C. C. Griswold…………………… 398 14

Page 15 view page image

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. SUBJEcT. DRAWS BY ENSRAVED BY PAGI THE

FAIRIES…………………………..Bellew…………………….Cox….

405 THE

BROORSIDE………………………..Smillie………………..Anthony….

412 EVENING………………………………Church………..Bobbett &

Hooper…. 430 LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR………………..Leon Job……….Bobbett & Hooper…. 435 THE ORPHAN’S CHRISTMAS-TREE Before each house he stood”…………..Thomas Moran…………..Annin…. 441

“Their Christmas presents all divide “……..Alfred Kappes……………Nichols…. 442 “It seemed to him a happy dream “………Alfred Kappes…………………445 WHEN SPARROWS

BUILD…………………Mary A. Hallock………… Bogert…. 447 SONG

OF THE BROOI “I chatter over stony
ways”…………….Smillie…………………….Cox…. 457 ” I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers”…………..Hennessy………… W. J. Linton…. 459 QUA CURtSUM

VENTUS……………………Parsons………………Langridge…. 470

PASSING THE ICEBERGS…………………. Fen…………….. Hayes….

477 THE ANGLER’S

WISH…………………..Ward……………………Ward…. 479 THE

KNIGHT’S TOMIB……………………Fenn…………………….

Ward…. 484 BOATMAN’S

HYMN………………………Parsons………………Langridge…. 491

UP-HILL………………………………Whitney…………. N. Orr &

Co…. 492 WAKE,

LADY!…………………….Fenn……Fenn……………….Ward….

494 THE FOX-HUNTERS “The snow lies fresh on Chester Hill”…….Bolles……………………Annin…. 500 “Beside a roaring hickory blaze”………..Bolles…………………..Harrol…. 502 THE

BAREFOOT BoY…………………….Johnson…………Andrew &

Filmner…. 511 THE RAILWAY RIDE…………………….Thomas Moran……. James Miller…. 516 SONGS OF LIFE. BUGLE

SONG…………………………..Fenn…………………………….

523 INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMIP…………H. W.

Herrick……………………. 532 THE BRIDGE OF

SIGHS………………….Eytinge………………..Anthony…. 539 THE

LAST LEAF………………………..Hennessv……………..

Anthony…. 544 WITHOUT AND WITHIN ” My coachman in the moonlight there “….. McLenan……………Anthony…. 552 “The galley slave of dreary forms”…….McLenan…………….. Anthony…. 554 THE MERRY

CHASSEUR………………….H. W. Herrick……………………. 560

THE SONG OF THE

SHIRT………………..Hoppin…………………Anthony…. 563 THE

CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE………Meffert……….. Anil(rew Filmer….

568 THE OLD CONTINENTALS “Then the bareheaded Colonel “………..Darley………………A. nthony…. 575 The Drummer…………………………Darley…………………Anthony….

576 THE FORGING OF THE

ANCHOR…………..Fenn……………………………. 580 How THEY

BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FlROMI GHENT TO AIX “Good speed! cried the watch “………..Heine……………………..Cox… 585 “As I sat, with his head’twixt my knees on the
ground”……………………….Meffert…………………….Co…

587 KI(RNER’S SWORD SONG Initial
letter………………………….Heine……………………..Cox….

590

Tail-piece…………………………….Heine……………………..Cox….

593 15

Page 16 view page image

AUTOGRAPHS. SUBJECT. DRAWN BY ENGRAVED BY PAGE LITTLE AND

GREAT……………………Bensell……………………………594

GULF WF.ED…………………………..Parsons………..Bobbett &

Hooper…. 603 THE CROOKED FOOTPATH………………..C. C.

Griswold……………………. 613 THE KING OF DENMARK’S

RIDE………….Bensell………………………….. 629 THE

SINGERS………………………….Macdonough……………

Anthony…. 646

TIBBIE………………………………..Ellninger………………………….

652 THE SABBATH MORNING…………………C. C.

Griswold……………………. 669 THE

EMIGRANTS……………………. Ward…………………… Ward….

673

SONG…………………………………Herrick…………………………..

679 “SILENT, UPON A PEAK IN

DARIEN.”……..Chapman…………………Hayes…. 686 CALM IS THE

NIGHT…………………….E. J. Whitney……Kingdon & Boyd…. 689

THE JOLLY OLD

PEDAGOGUE…………….Hennessy……………………….. 701

AUTOGRAPHS. THE

VOICELESS………………………….Holmes………………….. 54

ASK ME NO

IMORE………………………..Tennyson…………………………

64 HOME, SWEET

HOME……………………..Payne………………………….. 82 THE

LIVING

LOST………………………..Bryant………………………….. 90

THE FIRST SNOWV-FALL……………………J. R.

Lowell……………………. 96 THE SANDS O’

DEE……………………….Kingsley…………………………. 110

MAUD

MULLER………………………….Whittier………………………….

130 FLORENCE

VANE………………………….Cooke…………………………..

216 THE MOTHEtR’S LAST

SONG……………Procter………………………….. 286 ABOU BEN

ADHEM………………….Hunt………………………… 316 ON THE

DEATH OF THE POET DRAKE……….Halleck…………………………..

344 A WINTER

SCENE……………………….Holland…………………………..

394 THE MOUNTAIN

HEART’S-EAsE……………..Harte……………………………. 418

To THE

HUMBLEBEE……………………..Emerson………………………….

426 A

VIOLET……………………………….Whitney………………………….

505 THE SONG OF THE

SHIRT………………….Hood…………………………….. 562 How THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS…….Browning…………………………584

UNSEEN

SPIRITS………………………….Willis……………………………

610 THE

SINGERS…………………………….Longfellow………………………..

647 THE SWORD OF CASTRUCCIO

CASTRUCANI……Browning………………………… 657 BIRDS ARE

SINGING ROUND MY WINDOW…..Stoddard…………………………. 705 16

4

Page 19 view page image

SONGS OF HFOMTE.

Page 20 view page image

Th’ expectant weethings, toddlin, stacher through To meet their dad, wi’

flichterin noise an’ glee

Page 21 view page image

THE COTTER’S SATURDAY NIGHT. A iy loved, my honoured, muchl-respected friend! No mercenary bard his homage pays; \Vith honest pride, I scorn eachl selfish end My dearest meed, a friend’s esteem and praise To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, The lowly train in life’s sequestered scene; The native feelings strong, the guileless ways; WWhat Aiken in a cottage would have been; Ahl! though his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween! November chill blaws loud wi’ angry sutgh; The short’ning winter-day is near a close; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh; The black’ning trains o’ craws to their repose The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o’er the moor, his course does haineward bend. At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; Thl’

expectant weethings, toddlin, stacher through To meet their dad, wi’

flichterin noise an’ glee. 21

Page 22 view page image

THE COTTER’S SATURDAY NIGHT. His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily, His clean hearthl-stane, his thriftie wifie’s smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee, Does a’ his weary carking cares beguile, An’ makes him quite forget his labour an’ his toil. Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, At service out, ainang the farmers roun’; Some ca’ the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin A cannie errand to a neebour town: Their eldest hope, their Jelnny, woman grown, In youthfu’ bloom, love sparkling in her e’e, Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown, Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee, To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. Wi’ joy unfeigned, brothers and sisters meet, An’ each for other’s weelfare kindly spiers: The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed fleet; Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears; The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; Anticipation forward points the view. The mother, wi’ her needle an’ her shears, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel’s the new; The father mixes a’ wi’ admonition due. Their master’s an’ their mistress’s command, The younkers a’ are warned to obey; An’ mind their labours wi’ an eydent hand, An’ ne’er, though out o’ sight, to jauk or play: 22

Page 23 view page image

THE COTTER’S SATURDAY NIGHT. “An’ oh! be sure to fear the Lord alway, An’

mind your duty, duly, morn an’ night! Lest in temptation’s path ye gang astray, Implore His counsel and assisting might: They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright’” But hark! a rap comes gently to the door; Jenny, wha kens the meaning o’ the same, Tells how a neebour lad cam o’er the moor, To do some errands, and convoy her hame. The wily mother sees the conscious flame Sparkle in Jenny’s e’e, and flush her cheek; Wi’

heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak; Weel pleased the mother hears it’s nae wild, worthless rake. Wi’ kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben; A strappan youth; he takes the mother’s eye; Blythe Jenny sees the visit’s no ill ta’en; The father cracks of horses, pleuglhs, and kye. The youngster’s artless heart o’erflows wi’ joy, But blate an’ laithfu’, scarce can weel behave; The mother, wi’ a woman’s wiles, can spy What makes the youth sac bashfu’ an’

sac grave; Weel pleased to think her bairn’s respected like the lave. 0
happy love! where love like this is found! 0 heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare. I’ve paced much this weary, mortal round, And sage experience bids me this declare 23

Page 24 view page image

‘Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In others arms breath out the tender tale.

Page 25 view page image

THE COTTER’S SATURDAY NIGHT. “If Heav’n a draught of heav’nly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale, ‘Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In other’s arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev’ning gale.” Is there, in human form, that bears a heart - A wretch! a villain! lost to love and truth! That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, Betray sweet Jenny’s unsuspecting youth? Curse on his perjured arts! dissembling smooth! Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exiled? Is there no pity, no relenting ruLth, Points to the parents fondling o’er their child? Then paints the ruined maid, and their distraction wild! But now the supper crowns their simple board, The healsome parritch, chief o’ Scotia’s food: The soupe their only hawkie does afford, That’yont the hallan snugly chows her cood; The dame brings forth in complimental mood, To grace the lad, her weel-hain’d kebbuck, fell, An’ aft he’s prest, an’ aft he ca’s it guid; The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, How’twas a towmond auld, sin’ lint was i’ the bell.

The cheerfu’ supper done, wi’ serious face, They, round the ingle, form a circle wide; The sire turns o’er, wi’ patriarchal grace, The big ha’

Bible, ance his father’s pride. 25

Page 26 view page image

THE COTTER’S SATURDAY NIGHT. His bonnet rev’rently is laid aside, His lyart haffets wearing thin an’ bare; Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales a portion with judicious care; And “Let us worship God!” he says, with solemnn air. They chant their artless notes in simple guise; They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim: Perhaps Dundee’s wild warbling measures rise, Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name; Or noble Elgin beets the heav’nward flame, The sweetest far of Scotia’s holy lays; Compared with these, Italian trills are tame; The tickled ears no heart-felt raptures raise; Nae unison hae they with our Creator’s praise.

The priest-like father reads the sacred page, How Abram was the friend of God on high; Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek’s ungracious progeny; Or how the royal Bard did groaning lie Beneath the stroke of Heaven’s avenging ire; Or Job’s pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; Or rapt Isaiah’s wild, seraphic fire; Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; How He, who bore in Heaven the second name, Had not on earth whereon to lay His head: 26

Page 27 view page image

Th.e priest-like father reads the sacred page.

Page 28 view page image

THE COTTER’S SATURIDAY NIGHT. How His first followers and servants sped; The precepts sage they wrote to many a How he, who lone in Patmos banished, Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; And heard great Bab’lon’s doom pronounced command. Then kneeling down, to Heaven’s Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays: Hope ” springs exulting on triumphant wing,” * That thus they all shall meet in future days; There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator’s praise, In such society, yet still more dear; While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere. Compared with this, how poor Religion’s pride, In all the pomp of method, and of art, When men display to congregations wide Devotion’s ev’ry grace, except the heart! The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert, The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; But haply, in some cottage far apart, May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul: And in Htis book of life the inmates poor enroll. Then homeward all take off their sev’ral way; The youngling cottagers retire to rest: The parent-pair their secret homage pay, And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, * Pope’s Windsor Forest. R. B. 28
by Heaveil’s

Page 29 view page image

The parent pair their secret homage pay.

Page 30 view page image

THE COTTER’S SATURDAY NIGHT. That He who stills the raven’s clain’rous nest, And decks the lily fair in flow’ry pride, Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide; But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. From scenes like these old Scotia’s grandeur springs, That makes her loved at home, revered abroad: Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, “An honest man’s the noblest work of God: And certes, in fair Virtue’s heav’nly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind; What is a lordling’s pomp? a cumbrous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined! O Thou! who poured the patriotic tide That streamed through Wallace’s undaunted heart; Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, Or nobly die, the second glorious part, (The patriot’s God, peculiarly, Thou art His Friend, Inspirer, Guardian, and Reward!) O
never, never, Scotia’s realm desert; But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard, In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard! O

Scotia! my dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil le blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! ..-) 0 E)

Page 31 view page image

TO S. F. S. And, oh, may Heaven their simple lives prevent From luxury’s contagion, weak and vile! Then, howe’er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while, And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved Isle. TO S. F. S. THEY say that lonely sorrows do not chance. It may be true; one thing I think I kniow: New sorrow joins a gliding funeral slow With less jar than it shocks a merry dance. But if griefs troop, why, joy doth joy enhance As often, and the balance levels so. If quick to see flowers by the wayside blow, As quick to feel the lurking thorns that lance The foot that walketh naked in the way. Blest by the lily, white from toils and fears, Oftener than wounded by the thistle-spears, We should walk upright, bold, and earnest gay; And when the last night closed on the last day, Should sleep like one that far-off music hears. GEORGE MACDONALD. 31

Page 32 view page image

THEF BUCKET. How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-taiile(d wdildwood. And every loved spot which my infancy knew! 32

Page 33 view page image

”1BE B UCKLET. The wils)rea(illg pond(l, an(l tile mill thlat stoiod( by it; Thle bridgre, and the rock whlere the cataract fell; Tlle cot of my fatlier, the dairy-hliouse nighl it, And e’en the rude bucket thlat hung in the well: Thle old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, Thle moss-covered bucket whlichl hu]ng in the well. Ilil.t moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure; Foi often at noon, when returned firom the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, Tlhe ])purest and sweetest tlhat nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with lhands thlat were glowing, And quick to tlhe wllite-)ebbled bottom it fell! Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping, with coolness, it rose from the well: Thle old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well. How sweet from the green, mossy brim to receive it, As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips! Not a fitll, blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, Thle brightest that beauty or revelry sips. And inow, far removed from the loved habitation, Tlhe tear of regret will intrusively swell, As fancy reverts to my father’s plantation, And sighls for tile bucket that hangs in the well: Thle old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well. SAMUEL WOODWOIRTH 33

Page 34 view page image

JOHN ANDERSON. JoN. ANI)ERSON, my jo JohII, Whlien we were first acquent Your locks were like the ravell, Your bonny brow was brent; But now your brow is bal(l, Jolln, Your locks are like the snIIow; But blessings on your frosty pow, Joh]ii Anderson, my jo. Jolln Aiiderson, my jo Johln, We clamb thle lill tliegitliei, And inemy a canty dlay, Jolhn, We’ve laid wi’

ane anitller Now we maunII totter doun, Johln, But lamnd in hland we’ll go, And sleep theg(itlier at thle foot, Jolln A(nderson, my ji()o. ROIIERT

BURNS. BABY’S SHOES. O THOSE little, those little blue shoes, Those slhoes that no little feet use! O the price were high That those shoes would buy.

Those little blue unused shoes 34 0.

Page 35 view page image

BABIY’S SHOIES.j For they hold the small shape of feet That no more their mother’s eyes lmeet, That, by God’s good will, Years since grew still, And ceased from their totter so sweet. And 0, since that baby slept, So hluslled, hlow thie mother has kept, Withl a tearfill pleasure, Thllat little dear treasure, An(l over tllem tlhoutght and wept’ For tlley mind her for evermore Of a patter along the floor; And blue eyes she sees Look ul) firom hler knees, WVitli thle look that in life they wore. As tlley lie before hler thllere, Thllere babbles from chair to chlair A little sweet face Thlat’s a gleam in the place, With its little gold curls of hair. Thlen 0, wonder not that her heart From all else would rather part Tlian those tiny blue shloes Thlat no little feet use, And( wlose silght makes such fond tears statrt! WILLIAMI Cox BEN-.N,ETT. 3.5

Page 36 view page image

I I ~~~~~~~~~~~L ~~~~~~~~~ A~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~; !~~ <~ I -~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~c ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~a (~-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~l

Page 37 view page image

TIIE DAYS TIAT ARE NO MORE. ti.se iii thle heart, and gather to tlle eyes, lii lookinig on thle happy autumn fiel(ls, Ajid thinkiingr of the days that are Ho rmoi’e. ‘Fresli as thle first bealn glitterillg oi sa -ii Tllat brings our friends up fi’om thle ul(le’r-w()l’I(l Sad as the last wvhlicll reddens over one ‘I’liat siniks witlh all we love below tlhe verge: So sa(l, so fi’esli, thie (daysvs that are no more. All! sad aLnd strangre as in (lark summer (ldawns Tlhe earliest pipe of llalf-awatkene(
birlds To. dying ears, wlen unto dying eyes Tlie casement slowly crows a glilnne,i,,g sqtiuare So sad, so strangre, the days tlhat are no miore.

Dear as rememnbered kisses after death, An(l sweet as those by hopeless faicy fei(gne(d On lips tlhat are for othlers deel) as love, Deep as first love, and wild withl all regr,et: O Deaitli in L,ife’ the (lays tlhat are no nmore. AI,F’EI) TENND r N’S.N. 31

Page 38 view page image

TIHE TWO LOCKS OF IIAIR. A YOUTH, ligllt-liearted and content. I wander thlroulgh thle -world; Here, Arab-like, is )itclied my tent, And straigbht again is fiurled. Yet oft I dream that once a wife Close in my hleart was locked, And in tlhe sweet repl)ose of life A blessed chlild I rocked. I wake! Away that dream - awa! Too lolng did it remiain: So long tllait botl by nighlt and dav It ever comies again. Thle end lies ever in my tloughlt: To a grave, so cold and deep, The miotler beauttiful was brouglht; Thlen drol)l)ed tlle cllild asleel)p. 1But now tlhe dream is wholly o’er, I batlie mine eyes and see; And wander thllrotughl the world once more, A youtth so light and free. 8S

Page 39 view page image

THlE LORDS OF TIIUI,E. Two locks-and they are wondrous fair! Left me that vision mild; The brown is from the mothler’s lfair, The blond is from the child. And when I see that lock of gold \ PI’ale grows tlhe evening red And when the dark lock I )behllold I wish tllat I were dead. GUSTAV

PFIZER. (Germlfain.) 1’ranlslation of HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELI,IlOW. THE

LORDS OF THUF,E. THE Lords of Thule it did not please That Willegis their bishop was For lie was a wagoner’s son. And they drew, to do him scorn, VWhIeels of chalk ul)on tlhe wall; He found them in chamber found tlhem in hall. But the piouis Willegis Could not be moved to bitterness: Seeing the wheels upon the wall, He bade lhis servants a painter call And said -” My friend, paint now for me, On every wall, that I may see, A wheel of whlite in a field of red; Underneath, in letters plain to be read. 8 Iq 4

Page 40 view page image

THE ERL-KING. I Willegis, bislho) nowv by namLie, Forget not whence you came!’ ” The Lords of Thule were full of shiame: They wiped away their words of blame; For they saw that scorn and jeer Cannot wouInd the wise mana’s ear. And -ll the bishops tlhlat after lhim camne Quartered the whleel with their arms of fame. Thus came to pious Willegis Glory out of bitterness. ANONYMOUS. (German.) Anoiiymous’I’ran1slation. THE ERL-KING.

WHO rides so late through the grisly nirlght? ‘T is a father and child, and he grasps lim tight; He wraps him close in his muantle’s fold, And shelters the boy from tlhe piercing cold. “,My son, why thus to my arm (lost cling?” ” Father, dost thou not see the Erlie-King? -The Kin,g with his crownI and his ]ong black traiin ” ” My son,‘t is a streak of the misty rain.” ” Come hithler, thou darliing! come, go with me! Fine games know I that I‘11 play with thee; Flowers manly and briglit do my kingdomns hold, IMy mother llas manyv a robe of gold.” 40 4

Page 41 view page image

THE ERILKING. ” O father, dear father! and dost thlou inot hear What the Erlie-King whispers so low in mine ear?” “Calm, calm thee, my boy! it is only the breeze, As it rustles the withered leaves uilder the trees.” “

Wilt thou go, bonny boy? wilt thou go with me’ My daughters shall wait on thee daintilie; My daughters around thee in dance shall sweep, And(l rock thee, and kiss thee, and sing thee to sleep.” ~~~~ I, ~~~~~~~~~~~ 2: i., i v1: 1)! I Ii ,b , AdI b., “0 father, dear father! and j __ dost thlou not mark ;-~ }’ Erlie-King’s dau(ghters move, by in the dark?” ” I see it, my child; but it is not they, ‘T’ is the old willow nodding its head so gray.” 41

Page 42 view page image

THE PIIANTOM. ” I love thee! thy beauty, it charms me so; And I’]1 take thee by force, if thou wilt not go!” “0 father, dear father! he’s grasping me: Sly heart is as cold as cold call be! ” The father rides swiftly -
with terror he gasps; Tile sobbing child in his arms lie clasps. Ite reaclies the castle with spurring and dread; l1,ut alack! in his arms the child lay dead! JOI,ANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE. ((;ermaii.) Translation of THEO)DOi,E MIARTIN. THE PHANTOM. AGAIN I sit within the mansion, In the old familiar seat; And shade and sunshine chase each other O’er the carpl)et at my feet. Bat the sweetbrier’s arms have wrestled upwards, In the summers that are past, And the willow trails its branches lower Than when I saw them last. They strive to shut the sunshine wholly From out the haunted room, 42 I

Page 43 view page image

T’HE’PHANTOM. To fill thle house, thlat once was joyfil, With silence and with gloom. And many kind, remembered faces Within the doorway comle: Voices, that wake the sweeter music Of one that now is dumb. They sing, in tones as glad as ever, The songs she loved to hear; They braid thle rose in summiner garlands, Whose flowers to her were dear. And still, her footstep)s in the passage, Her blushes at the door, Her timid words of maiden welcome, Come back to me once mnore; And all forgetful of my sorrow, Unmindful of mny p)ain, I tl1ink shie las but newly left me, And soon will come agrain. Shle stays witlhout, I)ercllance, a moment To dress hler dark browin hlair; I liear the rustle of lier garmnents, Her lilght step on the stair! 0, flutterinyg heart, cointrol tliy tuinult Lest eyes l)rofane shlould see 4 -:)

Page 44 view page image

TIlE MORNING-GLORY. My cheeks betray the rush of raptuire Her coming brings to me! She tarries long: but lo, a whisper Beyond the open door!

And, gliding through the quiet sunshine, A shadow on the floor! Ah!‘tis the whispering pine that calls mne, The vine whose shadow strays; And my patient heart must still await her, Nor chide her long delays. But my heart grows sick with weary waitilig, As many a time before: Her foot is ever at the threshold, Yet never passes o’er. BAYAIRD TAYLOR THE

MIORNING-GLORY. WE wreathed about our darling’s head The morning-glory bright; Her little face looked out beneath, So full of life and light, So lit as with a sunrise, That we could only say “She is the morning-glory true And her poor types are they.”’ 44 .0

Page 45 view page image

TIlE MORN\ING-GI,ORY. So always, firom thllat llal)py time, We called her by their name; And very fittiing did it seem, For sure as morning came, Behind her cradle bars sle smiled To catch the first faint ray, As from the trellis smiles the flower And opens to the day. But not so beautiful they rear Their airy cups of blue, As turned her sweet eyes to tle light, Brinmmed’witlhi sleep’s tender dew And not so close their tendrils file Round their supports are tlhrown, As those dear arms whlose outstretclled plea Clasped all hearts to hler own. We used to think how she had come, Even as comes the flower: The last ani perfect added gift To crown Love’s mornini g l1our; And how in her was imaged forth The love we could not say, As on the little dew-drops round Shinies back the heart of day. We never could have thlou(ghlt, O God That she must withler up, Almost before a day was flown, Like the mornin,-glorv’s cul); 4.5

Page 46 view page image

TIIE MIORNING-GLORY. WVe never thlought to see her dro()o Her fair and noble head, Till she lay stretched before our eyes: Wilted, and cold, and dead! The morning-glory’s blossoming Will soon be coming round; Wre see their rows of hleart-shaped leaves Upspringingt from the ground The tender things the Winter killed Renew again their birth. But the glory of our morning(r Has passed away from earth. 0 Earth! ill vain our achling eyes Stretch over thy green plain! Too harsh thy dews, too gross thine air, Her spirit to sustain! But up in groves of Paradise Full surely we shall see Our morning-glory beautiful Twine round our dlear l,ord(‘s knee. MARIA VIITTE L,OWELL. 6 I

Page 47 view page image

EPITHIALAMIUM1. I SAW two clouds at mnorning, Tinged by the rising sun, Ald in the dawn they floated on, A~nd mingiled into onie: 47

Page 48 view page image

EDWAR.D, EDWARD. I thougilt tllat morning(r cloud was blest, It mloved so sweetly to tlhe west. I saw two summer currents Flow smnoothly to their meeting, And join their course with silent force, In peace each other greeting; Calm was their course through bainks of green, While dimpling eddies played(l between. Suchl be your gentle motion, Till life’s last pulse slall beat; Like Summer’s beam, a(nd Summer’s stream, Float on in joy, to meet A calmer sea, whlere storms shlall cease, A purer sky, whlere all is peace. JOItN (JAI NEI) CALKINS BRAINARD. El)WARD, ED)WAIAlL). QUHY
dois zour brand sae dral)p i’ I)lli(l, Ed\waird, Edwaird? Qulvhy dlois zour brand sae dral)p wi’ bluid, And quliy sac sad(l gang zee O?” “0 I hae killed my hauke sae guid, Mitlher, mithlier: 0 I hae killed my hlauke sac guid, And I lad niae mair hot liee 0. 48

Page 49 view page image

EDWARD, EDWARD. Zour lhaukis bluid was nevir sae reid, Edward, Edward: Zour haukis bluid was nevir sac reid My deir son, I tell zee 0.” “0O I hae killed my reid-roan steid, Mither, mither: O I hae killed my reid-roan steid, Thlat was sac fair a(nd firee 0.” “Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair, Edward, Edward: Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mnair - Sum othler dule ze drie 0.” 4,q 4

Page 50 view page image

EDWARD, EDWARD. “O I hae killed my fader deir, Mithler, mither: O I hae killed my fader deir - Alas! and wae is mee O ” ,And quhlatten penance.

wnul ze drie for thlat, Edward, Edward? Qluhatten penance wul ze drie for that? My deir son, now tell mee 0.” ” lie set my feit in zonder boat, Mitlier, mither: lie set my feit in zonder boat, And lie fare ovir thle sea 0.” “And quhat wul ze doe wi’ zour towirs and zour lII’, Edward, Edward? And quhlat wul ze doe wi’ zour towirs and zour ha’, That were sae fair to see O?” “lie let tham stand til they doun fa’; Mithler, mither: lie let tham stand til they d(loun fa’, For here nevir mnair maun I bee 0.” “And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairls and zour wife, Edward, Edwaid(l? And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and zour wife, Qiuhan ze gang ovir the sea O?” “The warldis room-let thliamin beg throw life, Miither, mithler: The warldis room - let thlam beg throw life; For tham nevir mair wul I see 0.” 50

Page 51 view page image

A PETITION ro TIME. “And quhiat wul ze leive to zour ain mithlier deir, Edward, Edward? And quliat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir? My deir son, now tell mee O.” “The curse of hell frae me sall ze heir, Mither, meither: The curse of hell frae me sall ze heir - Sic counseils ze gave to mee O.” ANONYMOUS. A PETITION TO TIME. Touch us gently, Time! Let us glide adown thy stream Gently - as we sometimes glide Through a quiet dream.

Humble voyagers are we: Husband, wife, and children three: (One is lost-an angel, fled To the azure overhead!) Touch us gently, Time! We’ve not proud nor soaring wings: Our ambition, our content, Lies in simple things.

Humble voyagers are we, O’er life’s dim, unsounded sea, Seeking only some calm clime: Touch us gently, gentle Time! BRYAN WALLER PROCTrFP. (Barry Cornwall.) 51 .0 0

Page 52 view page image

THE DULE’S I’ THIS BONNET O’ MINE. THE dule’s i’ this bonnet o’ mine: My ribbins’ll never be reet. Here, Mally, aw’m like to be fine, For Jamie’ll be comin’ to-neet; Ile met me i’ th’ lone tother day, (Aw wur gooin’ for wayter to th’ well,) An’ he begged that aw’d wed him i’ Mav. Bi’th’ mass, iv he’ll let me, aw will! When he took my two honds into his: Good Lord, heaw they trembled between! An’ aw durstn’t look up in his face, Becose on him seein’ my e’en. My cheek went as red as a rose; There’s never a mortal con tell Heaw happy aw felt - for, thae knows, One couldn’t ha’ axed him thleirsel’. But th’ tale wur at th’ end o’ my tung: To let it eawt wouldn’t be reet, For aw thought to seem forrud wur wrung; So aw towd him aw’d tell him to-neet. But, Mally, thae knows very weel, Though it isn’t a thing one should own, 52 .

Page 53 view page image

THE VOICELESS. Iv aw’d th’ pikeill’ o’ th’ world to mysel’. Aw’d oather ha’ Jamie or noan. Neaw, Mally, aw’ve towd thae my mind; What would to do iv it wur thee? Aw’d tak him just while he’re inclined An’ a farrantly bargain he’ll be; For Jamie’s as greadly a lad As ever stept eawt into th’

sun. Go, jump at thy chance, an’ get wed; An’ mak th’ best o’ th’ job when it’s done!” Eh, dear! but it’s time to be gwon: Aw shouldn’t like Jamie to wait; Aw connut for shame be too soon, All’ aw wouldn’t for th’ world be too late. Aw’m o’ ov a tremble to th’ heel: Dost think’at my bonnet’ll do?

“Be off, lass - thae looks very we(l; He wants noan o’ th’ bonnet, thae foo! ” EDWIN WAUGH. THE VOICELESS. WE count the broken lyres that rest Where the sweet wailing singers slumber, But o’er their silent sister’s breast The wild flowers who will stoop to number’ 53

Page 54 view page image

II)

Page 55 view page image

THE VOICELESS. A few can touch the magic string, And noisy Fame is proud to win themn; Alas for those that never sing, But die with all their music in them! Nay, grieve not for the dead alone, Whose song has told their hearts’ sad stoi-y: Veep for the voiceless, who have known The cross without the crown of gloiry! Not where Leucadian breezes sweep O’er Sappho’s memory-hiaunted billow, Bitt where the glistening night-(lews weep On nameless sorrow’s churchyard pillow. O hearts that break and give no signn, Save Iwhitening lip and fading tresses, Till Death pours out his cordial wine Slow-dropped from Misery’s crushing(r presses If singing breath or echoing chlord To every hidden pangr were given, What endless melodies were poured, As sad as Earth, as sweet as Heaven OLIVER’WVENDELL

HOLMES 55

Page 56 view page image

FASSING THY DOOR 9!‘TWAS thle world to me-, ]Aife too - and more!

Catchiing a glance of thiee, Passing thy door. Faint as an autumni leaf, Trembling to part: So, in that moment brief, Trembled my heart. Nothingt I saw but thiee, Nothing could find; Vision had fled from me, Lingering behllind. How I had p)assed along, How found my way, Sighitless amidst the throng, Love could but sav. How I had moved my feet I never knew; I had seen nothing, sweet, Since I’d seen you. O!‘twas the world to me, Life too - and more! Catching a glance of thee, PassiIng thy door. CHARLES SWAI1l 56

Page 57 view page image

BONNIE GEORGE CAMPBELL. IIIE upon Hielands, And low upon Tay, Bonnie George Campbell Rade out on a day. Saddled and bridled And gallant rade he; Hame cam his gude horse, But hame cam na he! Out ran his auld either, Greetin’ fiu’ sair; Out ran his bonnie bride, Rivin’ her hair. Saddled and bridled And booted rade he; Toom hame cam the saddle, Bult never cam he! “

My meadow lies green, And my corn is unshorn; My barn is to big, And my baby’s unborn.” Saddled and bridled And booted rade he; Toom hlame cam the saddle, But never cam he! AXONYMO Uo. 57 t

Page 58 view page image

THE SAILOR. A BOMAIC BALLAD. THou that hast a dauhlter For one to woo and wed, Give her to a husband With snow upon his head, 0, give her to an old man, Though little joy it be, Before the best young sailor That sails upon the sea How luckless is the sailor When sick and like to die He sees no tender mother, No sweetheart standing by. Only the captain speaks to him “Stand up, stand up, young man And steer the ship to haven, As none beside thee call.” Thlou say’st to me, ” Stand up, stand ip)! ” I say to thee, Take hold! l,ift me a little from the deck; My ihands and feet are cold.

And let my head, I pray thee, With llandkerchliefs be bound:

Page 59 view page image

THIE SAILOR. There! take my love’s gold handkerchllief, And tie it tightly round. Now bring the chart, the doleful chart; See, where these mountains meet! The clouds are thick around their hlea(ld, The mists around their feet. Cast anchor here;‘tis deep and safe Within the rocky cleft: The little anchor on the right The great one on the left. And now to thee, 0
captain, Most earnestly I pray, That they may never bury me In church or cloister grly; But on the windy sea-beaclh, At the ending of the lai([, All on the surfy sea-beaclh, Deep down into the sand. For there will come the sailors: Their voices I shall heal, And, at casting of the anchor, The yo-ho loud and clear, And, at hauling of the anchor, The yo-ho and the cheer. Farewell, my love, for to thy bay I nevermore may steer! WILLIAM

ALLINOGHAM. 9 59

Page 60 view page image

LUCY. Sii i dwelt among the untrodd(len ways, Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise, And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone, Half hidden from the eye; Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know WVhen Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and 0, The difference to me!

WVILLT,IAM WORD’SWORTH 60

Page 61 view page image

THIE FIRE OF DRIFT-WVOOD. WE sat within the farmhouse old, Whose windows, looking o’er the bay, Gave to the-sea-breeze, damp and cold(l, An easy entrance, night and day. Not far away we saw the port, The strange, old-fashioned, silent townl, The light-house, the dismantled fort, The wooden houses, quaint and brown. We sat and talked until the niilt, Descending, filled the little roomn; Our faces faided firom the siglit, Our voices only broke the gloom. We spake of many a vanisled senee, Of what we once hlad tllongl,t an(l saidi Of what had been, and mig,lt leave b)eeln, And who was changed, and wlho w,as de,-tI; And all that fills the hearts of friends, When first they feel, with secret pain, Their lives thenceforth have separate ends, And never can be one again: 61

Page 62 view page image

THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD. The first slight swerving of the heart, That words are powerless to express, And leave it still unsaid in part, Or say it in too great excess. The very tones in which we spake Had something strange, I could but lnark; The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark. Oft died the words upon our lips, As suddenly, firom out the fire Built of the wreck of stranded ships, The flames would leap, and then exl)ire. And, as their splendor flashed and failed We thought of wrecks upon the lll.iiii; Of ships dismasted, that were hailed And sent no answer back again. The windows, rattling in their flames, The ocean, roaring up the beach, The gusty blast, the bickering flames, All mingled vaguely in our speech; Until they made themselves a part Of fancies floating through the brain: The long-lost ventures of the heart, That send no answers back again. a,2

Page 63 view page image

ASK ME NO MORE. 0 fltames that glowed! 0 hearts that yearne(l! They were indeed too much akin: Tile drift-wood fire without that burned, The thoughts that burned and glowed within. IIENITY AVADSWOIZTIi LONGFIELLIOW.

ASK MIE NO MlORE. AsK me no more: the moon may draw the sea; The cloud(
may stoop firom heaven and take the slI,il)e, With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape; liut, 0 too fond! when have I answered thee? Ask me no more. Ask me no more: what answer should I give? I love not hollow cheek or faded eye: Yet, 0 my friend, I will not have thee dic! Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live; Ask me no more. Ask -me no more: thy fate and mine are seale(l; I strove against the stream, and all in vain.

Let the great river take me to the main. No more, dear love-for at a touch I yield; Ask me no more! ALFI”EiD TENN ~SOX. . 68 .0 0

Page 64 view page image

0  *tL ___ -,- a ___ Lj,1~ & t 4 .~~ Au e I’t at t &4k ~ A e,~~~~~~~~~~~~~ qA ~

Page 65 view page image

0 ;;’ /~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~; ( r cl-~ I~~~~~~~~~~~~m.

j~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~tf I 7~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I

Page 66 view page image

CRADLE SONG. Unwritten history! Unfathomed mystery Yet he chuckles, and crows, and nods, and willks, As if his head were as full of kinks And curious riddles as any sphinx! Warped by colic, and wet by tears, Punctured by pins, and tortured by fears, Our little nephew will lose two years; And he’ll never know Where the Summers go: He need not laugh, for he’ll find it so! Who can tell what a baby thinks? Who can follow the gossamer links By which the manikin feels his way Out from the shore of the great unknown, Blind, and wailing, and alone, Into the light of day?

Out from the shore of the unknown sea, Tossing in pitiful agony; Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls, Specked with the barks of little souls: Barks that were launched on the other side, And slipped from Heaven on an ebbing tide! What does he think of his mother’s eyes? What does lie think of his mothler’s hlair? What of the cradle-roof, that flies Forward and backward through the air? What does he think of his mnother’s breast, Bare and beautiful, smooth and whiter 66

Page 67 view page image

CRADLE SONG. Seeking it ever with fresh deligllt, Cup of his life and couch of his rest? What does hlie think when her quick embrace Presses his hand, and bIries his face Deep where the hlieart-tliihobs sink and swell, Withi a tenderness she can never tell, Thlougli slhe murmur the words Of all the birds, Words she has learned to murmur well? Now he thinks he’ll go to sleep I can see the shadow creep Over his eyes in soft eclipse, Over his brow and over his lips, Out to his little finger-tips! Softly sinking, down hle goes Down he goes! Down he goes See! He’s hluslhed( inii sweet repose! JOSIA’! GILnERT HOLLANId 6’i

Page 68 view page image

JEANIE AMORRISON. I’v’E wandered east, I’ve wandered west, Thlroughl moiiy a weary way; But never, never call forget TIie luve o’ life’s youngc day!

The fire thlat’s blawn on B3eltane e’en May weel be black gin Yule But blacker fa’ awaits the hleart Where first fond luve grows cule. O dear, dear Jeanie Morrisoln, The tloclts o’ byrgane years Still flingr their slhadows ower my path, And blind my een wi’ tears: They blind my een wi’

saut, saut tears, And sair and sick I p)ile, As memory idly summons ul) The blithle blinks o’ langsyne. ‘Twas tlhen we luvit ilk itlier weel, ‘Twas then we twa did part; Sweet time-sad timne! twa bairns at scule, Twa bairns, and but ae lheart! 68

Page 69 view page image

JEANIE iMORRISO-N. ‘Twas tllhen we sat on ae laigli bink, To leir ilk itlier lear; And tones and looks and smiles were slled, Rememnbered everinair. I wonder, Jeanie, aftell yet, Wllell sittill’ Ol that bink, Cheek touclin’ cheek, loof locked( ill loof, What our wee hleads could think. When baith bent doun ower ae braid page, \Vi’ ae buik on our knee, Tlhy lips were onl thy lesson, but Mly lesson was in thllee. 0, mindi ye how we hung our liea(s, How clleeks brent red wi’ slianie, Wlihene’er thle scule-weans, laugllim’, said We cleeked tlhegitlier hame? And mind ye o’

the Saturdays, (‘Tlie scule thllen skail’t at noon,) When we ran off to speel the braes, Thle broolny braes o’ June? Miy llead rins round and round about, MIy lieart flows like a sea, As ane by ane tlle thloclits rushl back O’ scule-time and o’ thllee. O mornin’ life! O mornin’ luve! O
lichltsomine days and lang, Whlen luinnied hlopes around our hearts Like simmer blossoms spra(ngr! 69

Page 70 view page image

l

Page 71 view page image

JEANIE MIORRISON. Tlle simmer leaves hlung ower our ]leads, The flowers burst round our feet, And in the gloamin’ o’ the wood The thlrossil whusslit sweet; Tlle tlhrossil whlusslit in the wood, Tlle burn sang to thle trees, And we, witlh Nature’s lieart in tune, Concerted harmonies; And on tlle knowe abune the burn For llours tllegitlier sat In the silentness o’ joy, till baitli Wi’ very gladness grat. Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison, Tears trinkled doun your chleek Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane Had ony power to speak! That was a time, a blessed time, Whlen hlearts were freshl and young, When freely gushed all feeliings fortll, Unsyllabled-uinsiung! I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, Gin I liae been to thlee As closely twined wi’ earliest thlochts As ye hlae been to me? 0, tell me gin tlheir music fills Tliine ear as it does mine! 0, say gin e’er your hleart grows grit Wi’ dreamingrs o’ langsyne? 71

Page 72 view page image

HESTI’,R. I’ve wandered east, I’ve wandlred w est, I’ve borne a weary lot; But in my wanderings, far or near, Ye never were forgot. The fount that first burst frae this hleart Still travels on its way; And channels deeper, as it rills, Thle luve o’ life’s youing day. 0 dear, dear Jeanie Miorrison, Since we were sindered young I’ve never seen your face, nor hleard Thle music o’ your tongrue; But I could hlug all wretchedness, And llal)py could I dee, Did I but ken your heart still dreamed O’ bygane days and me! AVILI,IANM M\OTrRIIWELL. HESTER. WHEN maidens suchl as Hester die, Their place ye may not well supply, Tlhoughl ye among a thousand try, Witli vain endeavor. A monthl or more liathli shle been dead, Yet cainnot I by force be led To think upon the wormy bed And( lier, togethler. 72

Page 73 view page image

IESTER. A springy motion ill her gatit, A rising step, did indicate Of pride and joy no common rate, That flushed her spirit; I know not by what name beside I shall it call: -if’twas not pride, lt was a joy to that allied, She did inherit. Her parents held the Quaker rule, lWhiclh dothl the human feeling cool; But she was trained in Nature’s school; Nature had blessed her. waking eye, a prying mind, heart thllat stirs, is hlard to bind; lhawk’s keen sighlt ye cannot blind; Ye could not Hester. My sprilltly neighbor, gone before To that unknown and silent shlore! Shall we not meet, as heretofore, Some summer morning, Whlen fromi tily chleerful eyes a ray Hatli struck a bliss upon the day: A bliss that would not go away, A sweet forewarningi? CHIARLES LAMB. 73 A A A

Page 74 view page image

Till,’, JOINERS. I. TiiiE mooni is roiind ai(I big, and fill Of sometiling strange and beaUtifitl’ Penisive anid pale, slie seems to lie, Couched inl tie coinfoin’ta,tble sky, Wistfully watching. all aiona The stars, and tri(ll)led fon lier yNoung. 7-4

Page 75 view page image

THIE JOINERS. II. The Joiner’s wife is big, and full Of something strange and beautiful: Patient and still and pale she lies, A tender terror in her eyes, Wistfully, through the workshop door, Counting his footsteps on the floor. III. A restless and a troubled ray Hathl vexed the Joiner’s eye all day, As fretful firelight flickers o’er The chambers of thie sick and poor; But I,ove fills witil religious light The chapel of his thloughts to-niglt, And consecrated tapers shine Above, before, around the shrine.

His words are few and low and mild, As careful for a sleeping child. No cunning in his craft of late: Compass and plumb and rule must wait, 75

Page 76 view page image

r[HE JOINERS. Till the Unerring Skill hatli done The work his daring love begun. IV. Two flgu’res cross the Joiner’s sill, Two prophecies, of Good and Ill; 76

Page 77 view page image

THE JOINERS. One paler, colder than the moon, The other like an April noon; Two odors-this of churchyard mould, That as when fragrant buds unifold: V. “Good master, by your leave, you see Two joiners faring piteously. “Weary and famished, cold and sore, Warmth, rest, refireshlment, we implore; “So, master, be your roof-tree blest In coming and in parting guest, “And we your pity will requite With nimble handicraft to-nig,hlt.” VI. “Well done! ” The strangers’ hammers ring In measure to strange tunes they sing; A dirge, a cradle-hymn they try, A requiem and a lullaby. VII. The moon is gone, her place all dark, Where late she lay one struggling spark! 77

Page 78 view page image

I y TO LUCASI’, ON GOING TO T~EWARS. TEI,I-IIIC 110t, sNNet, I.ii tiiil~iiflte, ‘That froii th iitiniiuneilic cOf tli clhastc bi-e.-st,iii(
quiet fiiiide ‘fo-NA’ai’i~e “Ill(- ai-iiis I fic~(~

Page 79 view page image

THE BELLS OF SHANDON. True, a new mistresse now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith imbrace A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such As you, too, shall adore; I could not love thee, deare, so much, Loved I Inot lhonor mnore. RICIIARID LOVELACE. TIIE

BELLS OF SHAND)ON. .S(lbbalta pango, Fuinera pla?go; Soleminiia claingo.

INSCRIPTION ON AN OLD BELL. \WITt deep affection Alid recollection [ often tlink of Those Shandon bells, \VWhose sounds so wvild would, Iil the days of chlildhood, Fling, round my cradle Their magic spells. Oii thllis I pon(ler Whlere’er I wander, And thus grow fonder, Sweet Cork, of tlee, 79

-0

Page 80 view page image

THE BE,I,LS OF SIIANDON. Witl thy bells of Slhandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. I’ve heard bells chiming Full many a clime in, Tolling sublime in Cathedral shrine, While at a glibe rate Brass tongues would vibrate; But all their music Spoke naught like thine. For memory, dwelling On each proud swelling Of thy belfry, knelling Its bold notes free, Made the bells of Shlandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. I’ve heard bells tolling Old Adrian’s Mole ill, Their thunder rolling From the Vatican, And cymbals glorious Swinging uproarious Iii the gorgeous turrets Of Notre Dame; 80

Page 81 view page image

THE BELLS OF SHANDON. But thy sounds were sweeter Than the dome of Peter Flings o’er the Tiber, Pealing solemnly. 0, the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. There’s a bell in Moscow; While on tower and kiosk 0 In Saint Sophia The Turkman gets, And loud in air Calls men to prayer From the tapering summit Of tall minarets.

Suchl enmpty phantom I freely grant them; But there’s an anthem More dear to me: ‘Tis the bells of Sliandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters O)f the river Lee. FRANCIS MAHONY. (Father Prout.) 81

Page 82 view page image

03- 4 a ., (/. 4 ~~~. L4 I le 4 (4 4 IA, C,4-1_ A/ o,, (o /A ” ____ - OA, -! -( -_ / I4 tA C. I

Page 83 view page image

HOME, SWEET HOME! MID pleasures and palaces though we may roaill, Be it never so humble, there’s no place like home’ A chain from the skies seems to hlallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is nie’er met withl elsewlhere. Home, home! Sweet home! There’s no place like home! An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain; O give me my lowly thatched cottage again! The birds singing gayly, that came at my call: Give me these, and the peace of mind deatrer thall all. Home, homne! Sweet home! There’s no place like homne! JOHN HOWAItD PAYN.}:. LOSS AND GAIN. WHEN the baby died, we said, With a sudden, secret dread, “Death, be merciful, and pass: Leave the other!” but, alas! While we watched he waited there, One foot on the golden stair, One hand beckoning at the gate, Till the home was desolate.

83 0

Page 84 view page image

LOSS AND GAIN. Friends say, “It is better so, Clothed in innocence to go;”

Say, to ease the parting pain, That “your loss is but their gain.” Ah! the parents think of this! But remember more the kiss From the little rose-red lips; And the print of finger-tips, Left upon a broken toy, Will remind them how the And his sister chlarmed the With their pretty, winsome Onlv Time can give relief To the weary, lonesome grief; God’s sweet minister of pain Then shall sing of loss and gain. NORA PFIRRY. 84 boy days wvays.

Page 85 view page image

TO MARY. THE twentieth year is well-nigh past Since first our sky was overcast: Ah, would that this might be the last! M\y Mary! Thy spirits have a fainter flow; I see thee daily weaker grow: ‘Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary! Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more, My Mary’ For though thou gladly wouldst fuilfil The same kind office for me still, Thy sight now seconds not thy will, Mly Mar,! But well thou playedst the housewife’s part; And all thy threads, with magic art, Have wound themselves about this heart, My Mary! 85

Page 86 view page image

TO MARY. Thly indistinct expressions seem Like language uttered in a dream; Yet me they charm, whate’er the theme, My Mary! Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light, My Mary! For, could I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary!

Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign; Yet, gently pressed, press gently mine, My Mary! Such feebleness of limbs thou provest, That now at every step thou movest Upheld by two; yet still thou lovest, My Mary’ And still to love, though pressed with ill, In wintry age to feel no chill, With me is to be lovely still, My Mary! But ah! by constant heed I know How oft the sadness that I show Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, My Mary 6

Page 87 view page image

THE MILLER’S DAUGHTER. And should my fuiture lot be cast With much resemblance of the past, Thy worn-out heart will break at last, My Mary!

WILLIAM COWF.ER THE MILLER’S DAUGHTER. IT is the miller’s daughter, And she is grown so dear, so dear, That I would be the jewel That trembles at her ear; For, hid in rin(lets day and night, [‘d touch her neck, so warm and white. And I would be the girdle About her dainty, dainty waist, And her heart would beat against me In sorrow and in rest; And I should know if it beat right, I’d clasp it round so close and tight. And I would be the necklace, And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom With her laiughter or her sighs; And I would lie so light, so light, I scarce should be unclasped at night. ALFRFED TENNYSON 147 ~

Page 88 view page image

HANNAH BINDING SHOES. POOR lone Hannah, Sitting at the window, bildi(iig shoes,: Faded, wrinkled, Sitting, stitching, in a mournfuil muse!

Bright-eyed beauty once was she, When the bloom was on the tree. Spring and Winter HIannahl’s at the window, binding shoe>. 88 I I, 1 1! I -I I C-, A-‘…………….. A,~

Page 89 view page image

HANNAH BINDING SHOES. Not a neighbor Passing nod or answer will refuse To her whisper: “Is there from the fishers any news? 0, her heart’s adrift with one On an endless voyage gone! Night and morning Hannah’s at the window, binding shoes. Fair young Hannah, Ben, the sun-burnt fisher, gayly woos; Hale and clever, For a willing heart and hand hlie sues. May-day skies are all a-glow, And the waves are laughing so! For her wedding Hannah leaves her window and her shoes. May is passing; ‘Mid the apple-boughs a pigeon coos. Hannah shudders; For the mild southwester mischief brews. Round the rocks of Marblehead, Outward bound, a schooner sped. Silent, lonesome, Hannah’s at the window, binding shoes. ‘Tis November; Now no tear her wasted cheek bedews. From Newfoundland Not a sail returning will she lose; 89

Page 90 view page image

~  4-” 4,4 A

Page 91 view page image

THE LIVING LOST. Wlhispering, hoarsely, ” Fishlermen, Have you, have you heard of Ben?” Old withi watching, Hannahl’s at the window, binding shloes. Twenty Winters Bleachl and tear the ragged shore Twenty seasons; Never one has brought her any ne Still her dim eves silently Chase the white sails o’er the se Hopeless, faithful, Hannah’s at the window, binding slloes. Lucy LARCOM. THE LIVING LOST. MATRON, the children of whose love, Each to his grave, in youth have passed, And now the mould is heaped above The dearest and the last! Bride, who dost wear the widow’s veil Before the we(tding, flowers are pale! Ye deem the human heart endures No deeper, bitterer grief than yours. Yet there are pangs of keener woe, Of which the sufferers never speak, 91 .0

Page 92 view page image

THE LIVING LOST. Nor to the world’s cold pity show The tears that scald the cheek, Wrung, from their eyelids by the shame And guilt of those they shrink to name, Whom once they loved with cheerful will, And love, though fallen and branded, still. Weep, ye who sorrow for the dead: Thus breaking hearts their pain relieve; And reverenced are the tears ye shied, And honored ye who grieve. Thle praise of those who sleep in eartl, The pleasant memory of their worth, The hope to meet when life is past, Slall heal the tortured mind at last. But ye, who for the living lost That agony in secret bear, lWho shall with soothing words accost The streingtl of your despair? Grief for your sake is scorn for them Whom ye lament and all condemn; And o’er the world of spirits lies A gloom from whicl ye turn your eyes. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 92

Page 93 view page image

SIR MARMADUKE was a hearty knigIit: Good man! old man! He’s painted standing bolt upright, With his hose rolled over his knee; His periwig’s as white as chalk, And on his fist he holds a hawk; And he looks like the head Of anl ancient family. 93 SIR MARMAAI)UKE.

Page 94 view page image

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. His dining-room was long and wide: Good man! old mnan! His spaniels lay by the fireside; And in other parts, d’ye see, Crossbows, tobacco-pipes, old hats, A saddle, his wife, and a litter of cats; And hlie looked like the head Of an ancient family. He never turned the poor from thile gate: Good mall! old man! But was always ready to break the p)ate Of his country’s enemy. What knight could do a better thing Than serve the poor, and fight for his king? And so may every head Of an anci(ent family. GEORGE COLMAN, “the younger.” I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER I REMEMBER, I remember The house where 1 was born, The little window, where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day; But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away! .94 .0

Page 95 view page image

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBEIL I remember, I remember The roses, red and white, The violets, and the lily-cups, Those flowers made of light! The lilacs, where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthday; The tree is living yet! I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then, That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow! I remember, I remember The fir-trees, dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky. It was a childish ignorance; But now’tis little joy To know I’m farther Off from Heaven Than when I was a boy. TU OMAS IIooD. 95

Page 96 view page image

N 4 ~ 1 I

Page 97 view page image

-L - f= — -‘ THE FIRST SNOWV-FALI,’,. THE SInOW had begun in the gloaming, And busily, all the night, Had been llea)ing field and highway WVitli a silence deepl) and white. 9 7 l,‘_ -,i - 7-t - t

Page 98 view page image

THE FIRST SNOWN-FALL. Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm-tree Was ridged inch-deep with pearl. From sheds new-roofed with carrara Came chanticleer’s muffled crow; The stiff rails were softened to swan’s-down; And still wavered down the snow. I stood and watched from my window The noiseless work of the sky, And the sudden flurries of snow-birds, Like brown leaves wliiling by.

I thloughlt of a mound in sweet Aubuni Where a little headstone stood: How the flakes were folding it gently, As did robins the Babes in the Wood. Up spoke our own little Mabel, Saying “Father, who makes it snow?” And I told of the good All-father Who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snow-fall, And thought of the leaden sky That arched o’er our first great sorrow When that mound was heaped so high. 98

Page 99 view page image

THE FIRST SNOW-FALL. I remembered the gradual patience That fell from that cloud like snow, Flake by flake, healing and hiding The scar of our buried woe. And again to the child I whispered “The snow that husheth all, Darling, the merciful Father Alone can bid it fall!” Then with eyes that saw not I kissed her, And she, kissing back, could not know That my kiss was given to her sister Folded close unnlei deepening snow. .)AMES

RTUSSELL I,OWELL. 9(

Page 100 view page image

I,AMENT OF THE IRISht E”MIGRANT, I’M sitting on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side, Oii a bright May morning long ago, Wllen first you were my bride; Thle corn was springing fresh and green, And the lark sang loud and high; And the red was on your lip, Mary, And the love-lighlt in your eye. Thie place is little changed, Mary; The day is bright as then; The lark’s loud song is in my ear, And the corn is green again; But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, And your breath, warm on my cheek; And I still keep listening for the words You never more will speak. ‘Tis but a step down yoiider lane, And the little church stands near, The church where we were wed, Marv: I see the spire from here. But the graveyard lies between, Mary, And my step might break your rest; For I’ve laid you, darling, down to sleel), With your baby on your breast. 1 4I) 0

Page 101 view page image

LAMENT OF THE IRISH ENMIGRANT. I’m very lonely now, Mary, For the poor make no new friends; But 0, they love the better still The few our Father sends! And you were all I had, Mary, My blessing and my pride; There’s nothing left to care for now, Since my poor Mary died. Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, That still kept hoping on, When the trust in God had left my soul, And my arm’s young strength was gone. There was comfort ever on your lip, And the kind look on your brow; I bless you, Mary, for that same, Though you cannot hear me now. I thank you for the patient smile When your heart was fit to break, When the hunger pain was gnawing there And you hid it for my sake; I bless you for the pleasant word When your heart was sad and sore; 0, I’m thankful you are gone, Mary, Where grief can’t reach you more.! I’m bidding you a long farewell, My Mary, kind and true; But I’ll not forget you, darling, In tile land I’nm going to. 10i

Page 102 view page image

A CHRISTMAS HYMN. They say there’s bread and work for all. And the sun shines always there; But I’ll not forget old Ireland, Were it fifty times as fair! And often in those grand old woods I’ll sit, and shut my eyes, And my heart will travel back again To the place where Mary lies; And I’ll think I see the little stile Where we sat side by side, And the springing corn, and the bright May morn, When first you were my bride. Mits.

BI,ACKWOOD. (Lady Dufferin.) 0 0 A CHRISTMIAS HYMN. IT was the calm and silent night! Seven hundred years and fifty-tlhree Had Rome been growing up to might, And now was queen of land and sea. No sound was heard of clashing wars: Peace brooded o’er the hushed domain; Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars, Held undisturbed their ancient reign, In the solemn midnight, Centuries a,o’ 102

Page 103 view page image

A CHRISTMAS HYMN. ‘Twas in the calmn and silent night! The senator of haughty Rome Impatient urged his chariot’s flight, From lordly revel rolling home. Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell His breast with thoughts of boundless sway What recked the Roman what befell A paltry province far away, In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago? Within that province far away Went plodding home a weary boor; A streak of light before him lay, Fallen through a half shut stable door Across his path. He passed; for naught Told what was going on within. How keen the stars! his only thoiught: The air, how calm, and cold, and thin! In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago.

O strange indifference! -low and high Drowsed over common joys and cares; The earth was still, but knew not why; The world was listening-unawares.

How calm a moment may precede One that shall thrill the world forever!

10.1

Page 104 view page image

THE POET”S CHRIS’I’IAS. To that still moment, none would hleed, Mani’s dooni was linked no more to sever, In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago!

It is the calm and solen night! A thousand bells rinig out, and throw Tlleir joyols peals abroad, and smite Tile darkness-charmed and holy now Thle niglit that erst no name had( w()IIl, To it a happy name is given For in that stable lay, new-born, Tile peacefil Prince of eartli an(l heaven, In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago! ALFRED 1I)OMMAI EiT. THE POET’S

CHRISTMAS. CoI,D Christmas eve! the muffled waits Are chiming in the frozen street; Round pauper courts and princely gates The music lingers sweet. In many a happy curtained brain Dreams of to-mnorrow weave their spells, Till (laylight, laughing at each pane, Comes witlh a burst of bells. 104 0

Page 105 view page image

THE POET’S CHRISTMAS. Blithe Christmas morn! such lusty cheer, Such kindly greeting, friendly talk, Might make the roses of the year Flush Winter’s frozen stalk, And fill the heart with throbs of Spring, And stir the soul with golden (dreams; For seraphs in the holly sing, Joy in the yule-fire gleams. Yet silence sits within my rooii, And coldness lies upon my hearth, Though’tis an hour when ice of gloomn Should feel the thaws of mirtl. They say a spirit walks abroad To touch the stern and Horeb-licart, Until beneath the sacred rod( The springs of pity start. They say the season bears a cliarmn To melt the icicle of ill, To make the snowy bosom warm, And blunt the wintry chill. The world is merry with its wine, Its smoking meats, its smnilillg fiieciil.s~ It has its pleasures-I have mine; So Heaven shall make amends: The uplifting of a minouldere(d p)all, The embers of a cold desire, The phantom shadows onl my will, The faces in the fire: 105;

Page 106 view page image

THE POET’S CHRISTMAS. These, with old hopes once nursed in vain, Old joys, old tears, old feelings fled, And that long, long, remembered train, The army of the dead! My Christmas guests. With these I sit Through every shout, through every chime, A weary bird, condemned to flit Round darkening shores of Time. But constant cares and sorrows grow Familiar as a face we love; And there are luxuries of woe Jove’s banquet could not move. And if, at Fancy’s wild command, Some form should mould itself fromi shade, Or through the gloom I felt a hand Upon my shoulder laid, Scarce would I start-so long I’ve known That loneliness of life which gives The soul a phantom world its own, Wherein it silent lives. But let the world have joy with The poet shall have joy within Then wreathe old Christmas’

fac Down to his glowing chin; No pleasure spare, no pastime s} Each roof with social clouds ‘Tis well; for once beneath the There rolls a happy world! JAMFEs MACFARLANIe. 106

Page 107 view page image

THE FISHERMEN. THREE fishers went sailing out into the west, Out into the west as the sun went down; 107

Page 108 view page image

THE F1SHEIRMEN. Each thought of the woman who loved him the best, And the children stood watching, them out of the town. For men must work, and women must weep; And there’s little to earn, and many to keep, Though the harbor bar be moaning. Thliree wives sat up in the light-liouse tower, And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down; And they looked at the squall, and they looked at the slho,wcr, And the rack it cailne rolling up, ragged and brown But men must work, and women must weep, Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, And the harbor bar be moaninig. Three corpses lay out on tile sliming sands, In the morning gleam as the tide went down; And the women are watching, and wringing their hands, For those who will never come back to the towii. For men must work, and women imust weep; And the sooner it’s over, the sooner to sleep; And good-bye to the bar and its moaning!

CIALXI{,.ES KINGSLEY. 108

Page 109 view page image

WE PARTEI) IN SIILENCE. WE parted in silence, we parted by, night, On the banks of that lonelv river; Where the fragrant limes tleir boughis unite, We met-and we parted forever! The night-bird sang, and the stars above Told many a touching story, Of friends long passed to the kingdom of love, Where the soul wears its mantle of glory. We p)arted in silence; our cheeks were wet With the tears that were past controlling; We vowed we would never-no, never-forget, And those vows at the time were consoling; But those lips that echoed the sounds of mine Are as cold as that lonely river; And that eye, the beautiful spirit’s shlrine, Has shrouded its fires forever. And now on tile midnight sky I look, And my heart grows fuill of weeping; Each star is to me a sealed book, Some tale of that loved one keeping. 10’)

Page 110 view page image

I i~~\ ,11 N N \ >~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ tI’ N I ;jjjSj A X < Qt44j ha fI

Page 111 view page image

THE SANDS O’ DEE. We parted in silence, we parted in tears, On the banks of that lonely river; But the odor and bloom of those by-gone years Shall hang o’er its waters forever. JULIA CRAWFORD. THiE SANDS O’ DEE. go and call the cattle home, ncall the cattle home, call the cattle liome, Ill “0

MARyY, And And

Page 112 view page image

THE SAN1)S O’ DEE. Across the sands o’ Dee”’ Tlhe western wind was wild, iand (I,Ink wi’ foamii, And all alone went shle. The creel)iI(ng tide caime il) along, the san(l, And () o’ei’ and o’cr thle sand,tII(l, And rou(nd and( round thle sa(nd,l As far as eye could see: Thle blindini(, mist came down and hid( the land, And never hlome came she. ” 0 is it weed, or fisli, or floatinig hlair, A tress o’ golden lhair, O’ drowned maid(len’s lhlir, Above the nets at sea? Was inever salmoin -et that sllonie so f’tir, Amolig the stakes on Dee.” They rowed hler in across the rolling( foai!,, The cruel, crlawling foaiim, Tlhe cruel, huing,ry foam, 1.1:I

Page 113 view page image

TIH;l RECONCILIATION. To her grave beside the sea; But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle liotiic Across the sands o’ Dee. CIIARILFS
kINGSILTY. ”THI, RIFCONCI,LIATION. As thliougi the land at eve we et, And l)ucked the ripened ears, WAe fell out, my wife and I, 0 we fell out, I know not why, And kissed again with tears. l’or when we came where lies the clild We lost in other years, There, above the little grave, 0 there, above the little grave, We kissed agaiin witli tears. A.IFRIED TENN l$soN.

1:3 “. I.

Page 114 view page image

BABY MAY. CHEEKS as soft as July peaches; Lips whose dewy scarlet teachles Poppies paleness; round large eyes, Ever great with new surprise; M\inutes filled witll slladeless gladness, MAinutes just as biiinmed with sadness; Happy smiles and wailiing cries, Crows and lalughs and tearful eyes Li(rllts an(l shalladows, swifter horn Thlan on windsw-ept autumni corn Ever some new tiny notion, M[aking every linmb all motion C,atcliings up of legs and arms, Tllrowing(rs back, and smnall alarms, Clutciing fingers, straighlltening jerks, Twining feet, whose each toe works, lKickings up and strainiing risings, Mlother’s ever new stiurpl)risings Hands all wants, arid looks all wonder At all things the hleavens under; Tiyiv scorns of smiled reprovings That have more of love than lovings, Mischiefs done withl such a winning Archness that we prize such sinning; Breakings dire of plates and glasses, Graspings small at all that passes, 114

Page 115 view page image

FOR CHARLIE’S SAKE. l’ullings of’ of all that’s able To be caught from tray or table Silences - small meditations, Deep as thoulghts of cares for nations, Breaking into wisest speechlles In a tongue that nothingi teachles, All the thoughts of wilose possessing Must be wooed to light by gnessing(; Slumbers - such sweet ang(el-seecinii-s That we’d ever have such dreamnin s, Till from sleep we see thee biecakiiin, And we’d always have thee waking; Wealth for which we know no measutre, Pleasure highll above all p)leasure Gladness brimming over gladness, Joy in care, deliclt in sadness Loveliness beyond completeness, Sweetness distancing, all sweetness, Beauty all that beauty may be: That’s May Bennett - that’s my baby. WILLIAM Cox BEN’EIT. ‘FOR CHIARLIE’S SAKE. THE ni,ght is late, the house is still; The angels of the hour fulfil Their tender ministries, and move From couch to couchl, in cares of love. They drop into thy dreams, sweet wife, The happiest smile of Clharlie’s life, t I;‘i

Page 116 view page image

FOR CHARLIE’S SAKE. And lay on Baby’s lips a kiss, Fresh from his angel-brother’s bliss; And as they pass, they seem to make A strange, dim hymn, “For Charlie’s sake! ” My listening heart takes up the strain, And gives it to the night again, Fitted with words of lowly praise, And patience learned of miournfti days, And memories of the dead child’s ways.

His will be done, His will be done! Who gave, and took away, my sonIn the far land to shine and sing Before the Beautiful, the King, Who every day doth Christmas make, All starr’d and bell’d for Charlie’s sake. For Charlie’s sake I will arise; I will anoint me where he lies, And change my raiment, and go in To the Lord’s house, leaving my sin Without, and seat me at His board, Eat, and be glad, and praise the Lord. For wherefore should I fast and weep, And sullen moods of mnourning keep? I cannot bring him back, nor he, For any calling, come to me: The bond the angel Death did sign, God sealed-for Charlie’s sake and mine. 116 I

Page 117 view page image

FOR CIIARLIE’S SAKE. I’mn very poor - his slender stone Marks all the narrow field I own; \Yet, patient lhusbandman, I till With faith and prayers that precious llill, Sow it with penitential p)ains, And, hopeful, wait the latter rains: Content if, aftei’ all, the spot Yield barely one forget-me-not; WVhether or figs or thistles make My crop -content, for Charlie’s sake. I have no houses, builded wellOnly that little lonesome cell, Where never romping playmates comne, Nor bashfill sweethearts, cunning-d(tnmb An April burst of girls allndl boys, Their rainbowed cloud of griefs and toys Born with their songs, gone with their tovn, Nor ever is its stillness stirred By purr of cat, or chirp of bird, Or mother’s twilight legend, told Of Horner’s pie or Tiddler’s gold, Or Fairy, hobbling to the door, Red-cloaked and weird, banned and I)tor, To bless the good child’s gracious eyes, The good child’s wistful charities, And crippled Changeling’s hunch to iiilake Dance on his crutch, for Good Chil(l’s sak(, How is it withl the lad? -‘T is well, Nor would I any miracle 117

Page 118 view page image

IMARIAN’S SONG. Might stir nmy sleeper’s tranquil trance, Or plague his painless countenance I would not any Seer miglht place His staff on my immortal’s face, Or lip to lip, and eye to eye, Chlarm back his pale mortality: No, Sliuiiammite! I would not bre.ak God’s quiet. Let them weep whlo wake. For Chlarlie’s sake my lot is blest: No comfort like h)is mothler’s breast, No )praise like hlers; no charm exprest In fitirest forms lath hlalf hler zest. For Cll:aiie’s sake this bird’s car(est That Deatlh left lollely in thlle nest. For Clharlie’s sake my hleart is drest, As for its birthday, in its best. For Charlie’s sake we leave tlhe rest To Him whlo gave, and who did take, A iid saved us twice-for Charlie’s sake.

JOIIN [VILLIAMSON PALMER MIARIAN’S SONG. DEEPERt than the hlail can smIIite, Deeper than the frost can bite, Deep asleep through day and ni(rghllt Our delight! its

Page 119 view page image

TIlE MIOTHER’S FIRST GRIEF. Now thy sleep no pang can breal. No to-morrow bid thlee wakeNot our sobs, whlo sit and aclle For thly sake. Is it dark or light below? 0, but is it cold( like snow? Dost tllou feel thle green thilngs grow)N, Fast or slow? Is it warmn or cold beneath? 0, but is it cold like deatll? Cold like deatlh withlout a breatli — Cold like death.

CIIISTINA G. RossEilTTI. TIlE MOTHER’S FIRST GRIEF. SHE sits beside the cradle, And her tears are streaming fast, For she sees the present only, While she thinks of all the p)ast: Of the days so full of gladness, When her firstborn’s answering kiss Thrilled her soul with such a rapture That it knew no other bliss. 0 those happy, happy moments! They but deepen her despair 119

Page 120 view page image

TIlE MOTHER’S FIRST GRIEF. For shle bends above the cradle, And hler baby is not there! There are words of comfort spoken, And the lead(len clouds of grief AVear the smiling bow of promise, And shle feels a sad relief; Btit her wavering thloughits will vwander, Till they settle on the scene Of the dark and silent chamber, And of all that might ]have beoii. For a little vacant garment, Or a slhining(r tress of hlair, Tells her heart, in tones of ainguislh, That her bablv is not thlere! She sits beside the crad(lle, But her tears no longer flow, For shle sees a blessed vision, And forgets all eartlhly woe Saintly eyes look downL ul)on her, And the Voice that lushled thle sea Stills her spirit wvith tlle whisper, “Suffer tlhem to come to Me.” And while her soul is lifted On the soaring wings of prayer, Heaven’s crystal gates swiIng inward, And she sees hler baby there! RonB:RT SMf TII Ctrl’ION 120

Page 121 view page image

T’I’E GARRET. 0, IT was hlere that Love his gifts bestowed On Youthl’s wild age! Gladly once more I seek my youthl’s abode, In pilgrimage: Here iiiy youing mistress with her poet dare(l Reckless to dwell; Sire was sixteen, I twenty-and we sllared This attic cell. Yes,‘twas a garret! be it known to all, Here was Love’s shlrine; Thllere read, in charcoal traced along thle wall. Thle unfinished line. Here was the board where kindred hearts would hieLid: The Jew can tell How oft I l)awned my watchl to fbast a friend In attic cell. 0, my Lisette’s fair form could I recall With fairy wand! There shle would blind the window with liher slhawl: Bashful, yet fond. 121

Page 122 view page image

THE GARRETr. What though from whom she got her dress I’ve since Learned but too w-ell? Still in those days I envied not a prince, In attic cell.

Here the glad tidiings on our banquet ‘Miid the bright bowls: Yes, it was here Mareng(o’s triumphi Kin(dled our souls! Bronze caiiioIn rored; France with Felt her heart swell; Proudly we driank our Consul’s healt In attic cell Dreams of my -youtlftil (lays! I’d fireely give, Ere my life’s close, All the dull days I’m destined yet to live, For one of those. Where shall I now find raptures that were felt, Joys that befell, And hopes that dawned at twenty, when I dwelt In attic cell? PiE:lIRE JEAN DE BKRANGER.

(Freincb.) Translation of FR-NxCIS MAHO-‘Y. (Father Prout.) 122 redoubled might

Page 123 view page image

L’f; “shzX l 4Ess I”,,..’,,:I, i A1AUl) AIU UI,I,El. ATAuD MUI,TLER, oni a suimmIer’s (lavy, Raked tle nmeadow, sweet witll lay. lieneathl her torn h)at glowe(l the wealth Of simple be,auty and rustic llealtlh. Sincinr, she wrIought, and her mnerry glee The miock-bird echloe(l fi’omll lis tiree. 123

Page 124 view page image

MIAUD MIULLER. Buit whlen shle glanced to the far-off town, Whlite from its hill-slope looking dowln, Thle sweet song died, and a va,gue unrest And a nameless longiIrg ille(i lher breast: A wishl, that shle hardly dared to own, For somethling better than shle had known. Thle Ju(dge roode slowly down the lane, Sminoothing hIis hlorse’s chlestnut mane. He drew his bridle in the shlade Of the apple-trees, to greet tle mai(l, And ask a draug,lit firom tle sl-)ring tlhat flowed Thlroiugl tlhe meadow, across tlhe road. Shle stooped whlere tlhe cool spri(ng bubbled ill), And filled for him hler small tin cul), And blushed as shle gave it, looking down On her feet so bare, and hler tattered gown. “Thlanks!” said the Judge, “a sweeter draught From a fairer hand was never quaffed.” lie spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, Of the singing birds anld the humming bees; 124

Page 125 view page image

MAUD AMULLER. Thllen talked of the hlaying, and wondered whlethler The cloud ill the west would bring foul weatlher. And Maiud forgot her briar-torn gownl, And her gracefiul ankles, bare and brown, And listened, while a pleased surprise Looked from her long-laslied llazel eyes. At last, like one who for delay Seeks a vain excuse, hle rode away. Maud(

Muller looked, and sighed: “Ah Ali iie! That I the Judge’s bride might be!

“He would dress me up in silks so fine, And praise and toast me at his wine. “My father should wear a broadcloth coat; My brother should sail a painted boat. “I’d dress my mother so grand and gay, And the baby should hlave a new toy each day. “And I’d feed the hungry and clothe the poor, And all should bless me who left our door.” The Judg(e looked back as he climbed th( lill. And saw iMau I\d Muller standing still: 12,1

Page 126 view page image

A i U D MU LI, LL. ,A form more fair, a face more sweet, Ne’er hlath it been my lot to meet; “An(d ler modest answer and gracefill air Showv ler wise and good as sie is faiir. ‘ Woiild she were mine, and I to-dayv, f,ike her, a harvester of hlav. 1 2g+

Page 127 view page image

MAUI) MULLER. “No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues; “But low of cattle and song of birds, And hlealthl, and quiet, and loving, words.” But hle thought of his sister, proud and cold, And his mother, vain of her rank and gold. So, closinig his heart, the Ju(l(dge rode or; And Maud was left in the field alone. But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, Wheit lie hummed in court an old love-tune; And the young girl mused(I beside the well, Till the rain on the uni’raked clover fell. He wedded a wife of richest dower, Who lived for fashion, as he for power. Yet oft, in his marble hearth’s bright glow, He watched a picture come and go; And sweet MaInd Muller’s hazel eyes Looked out in their innocent surprise. Oft, when the wine in his glass was re(l, He longed for the wayside well instead ~ ‘127

Page 128 view page image

IMAUD MULLLERt AII(I closed his eyes on his garnislle(l rooiiis. To dream of meadows and clover-bloomns; And thle prond nian sighed with a secret pain: “All, that I were free again! ” Free as wheni I rode that (lay Wliere thle barefoot mnai(lden rake(l tl)e liav.” Slle wedded a man nnlearned an(I poor, Anld miany cllildren played round hler dloor. IBut care and sorrow, and child-birthl pail, Left their traces on lieart aind biain. Andi oft, when the summer sun shone liot OI1 tlhe new-mown hay in tlhe meadow lot. 128 I

Page 129 view page image

MAUD MULLER. And she heard the little spring-brook fall Over the roadside, through the wall, In the shade of the apple-trees again She saw a rider draw his rein, And, gazing down with a timid grace, She felt his pleased eyes read her face. Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls Stretched away into stately halls; Thie weary wheel to a spiinnet turned, Tile tallow candle an astral bulnled; And for himn who sat by the chimney lug, Dozing and grumbling o’er pipe and mnug, A manly form at her side she saw, And joy was duty, and love was law. Then she took up her burden of life again, Saying only, “It might have been.” Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, For rich repiner and household drudge! God pity them both! and pity us all, Who vainly the dreams of youth recall; 129

Page 130 view page image

.0.1~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I, 4 & 1, I I~~~~C t. ~ t

Page 131 view page image

0, WEEL BEFA’ THE MAIDEN GAY. For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: “It might have been! ” Ahl, well! for us all some sweet hope lies Deeply buried from human eyes; And, in the hereafter, angels may Roll the stone from its grave away! JOHN GREENLEAF WHIIITTIER .0 0, IVEEL

BEFA’ THE MAIDEN GAY. 0, wEEL befa’ the maiden gay, In cottage, bught, or penn! An’ weel befa’ the bonny May That wons in yonder glen! Wha lo’es the modest truth sae wee], Wha’s aye sae kind, an’ aye sae leal, An’ pure as blooming asphodel Amang sae mony men! 0, weel befa’ the bonny thing That wons in yonder glen! ‘Tis sweet to hear the music float Alang the gloaming lea; ‘Tis sweet to hear the blackbird’s note Come pealing frae the tree; 131

Page 132 view page image

0, WEEL BEFA’ THE MAIDEN GAY. To see the lambkin’s lightsome ra(e, The dappled kid in wanton chase, The young deer cower in lonely place, Deep in Ids flowery den; But sweeter far the bonny face That smiles in yonder glen! 0, had it no’ been for the blush O’ maiden’s virgin flame, Dear Beauty never had been known, An’ never had a name; But aye sin’ that dear thing o’ blame Was modelled by an angel’s fraine, Tile power o’ beauty reigns supreme O’er a’ the sons o’ men; But deadliest far the sacred flame Burns in a lonely glen! There’s beauty in the violet’s vest, There’s hinny ill the haw; There’s dew within the rose’s breast, The sweetest o’ them a’; The sun will rise and set agtain, An’ lace wi’ burning gowd the main, The rainbow bend out-ower the plain, Sae lovely to the ken; But lovelier far the bonny thing That wons in yonder glen! JAMES HOGG. 132

Page 133 view page image

COMING ACROSS.. EVERY sail is full set, and the sky And the sea blaze with light, And the moon’mid her virgins glides on, As St. Ursula might. And the throb of the pulse never stops In the heart of the ship, As her measures of water and fire She drinks down at a sip. Yet I never can think, as I lie And so wearily toss, That by saint, or by star, or by ship I am coming across But by light which I know in dear eyes That are bent on the sea: And the touch I remember of hands That are waiting for me. By the light of the eyes I could come If the stars should all fail; And I think, if the ship should go down, That the hands would prevail. Ah! my darlings, you never will know How I pined in the loss Of you all, and how breathless and glad I am, coming across. H. i-. 41 1 33

Page 134 view page image

MATIN HYMN. I CANNOT ope mine eyes But Thou art ready there, to catch My morning soul and sacrifice; Then we must needs for that day My God, what is a heart? Silver, or gold, or precious stonee? Or star, or rainbow? or a part Of all these things, or all of them in one? My God, what is a heart?

That thou shouldst it so eye and woo, Pouring, upon it all thine art, As if that Thou hadst nothing else to do? Indeed, man’s whole estate Amounts (and richly) to serve Thee. He did not heaven and earth create; Yet studies them, not Him by whom they be. Teach me Thy love That this new light May both the work Then by a sunbeam to know, which’now I see and Workman show: I will climb to Thee. GEORGE HERBERT. 1.‘4 make a matell.

Page 135 view page image

THE LAND O’ THE LEAL. I’M wearin’ awa’, Jean, Like snaw ill a thaw, Jean; I’m wearin’ awa’ uo the Land o’ the Leal. There’s nae sorrow there, Jean; There’s neither cauld nor care, Jean, The day is ever fair In the Land o’

the Leal. You’ve been leal and true, Jean; Your task’s ended now, Jean; And I’ll welcome you To the Land o’ the Leal. Then dry that tearfii’ ee, Jean! My soul langs to be free, Jean; And angels wait on me To the Land o’

the Leal. Our bonnie bairn’s there, Jean, She was baith gude and fair, Jean; And we grudged her sair To the Land o’ the Leal! But sorrow’s sel’

wears past, Jean, And joy’s a-comin’ fast, Jean: The joy that’s aye to last, In the Land o’ the Leal. 135

Page 136 view page image

THE THREE SONS. A’ our friends are gane, Jean; We’ve lang been left alane, Jean; We’ll a’ meet again In the Land o’ the Leal. Now, fare ye weel, my ain Jean This world’s care is vain, Jean; We’ll meet, and ay’ be fain, In the Land o’ the Leal. CAROLINE, LADY NAIRN. THE THREE SONS. HAVE a son, a little son, a boy just five years old, With eyes of thoughtful earnestness, and mind of gentle mould. They tell me that unusual grace in all his ways appears, That my child is grave, and wise of heart, beyond his childish years. I cannot say how this may be: I know his face is fair; And yet his chiefest comeliness is his sweet and serious air. I know his heart is kind and fond; I know hle lovethli me; But loveth yet his mother more, with grateful fervency. But that which others most admire, is the thou,ght which fills his mind, The food for grave inquiring speech he everywhere doth find. Strange questions doth he ask of me, when we together walk; lie scarcely thinks as children think, or talks as children talk. Nor cares he much for childish sports, dotes not on bat or ball, But looks on manhood’s ways and works, and aptly mimics all. His little heart is busy still, and oftentimes perplext With thoughts about this world of ours, and thioughts about the next. 186 .0

Page 137 view page image

‘FHI THREE SONS. He kneels at his dear mother’s knee; she teachethl him to pray; And strange, and sweet, and solemn then are the words which lhe will say. 0, should my gentle child be spared to manhood’s years like me, A holier and a wiser man I trust that he will be; And when I look into his eyes, and stroke his thoughtful brow, I dare not think what I should feel, were I to lose him now. I have a son, a second son, a simple child of three; I’ll not declare how bright and fair his little features be, How silver sweet those tones of his when he prattles on my knee. I do not think his light-blue eye is, like his brother’s, keen, Nor his brow so full of childish thought as his lath ever been; But his little heart’s a fountain pure of kind and tender feeling; And his every look’s a gleam of lighlt, rich depths of love revealing. When he walks with me, the country folk, who pass us in the street, \Vill shout for joy, and bless my boy, he looks so mild and sweet. A playfellow is he to all; and yet, with cheerful tone, Will sing his little song of love, when left to sport alone. His presence is like sunshine, sent to gladden home and hearth, To comfort us in all our griefs, and sweeten all our mirth. Should he grow up to riper years, God grant his heart may prove As sweet a home for heavenly grace as now for earthly love; And if, beside his grave, the tears our aching eyes must dim, God comfort us for all the love which we shlall lose in him I have a son, a third sweet son; his age I cannot tell, For they reckon not by years and months where he is gone to dwell. To us, for fourteen anxious months, his infant smiles were given; And then he bade farewell to Earth, and went to live in Heaven. I cannot tell what form is his, what looks he wearethli now, 137

Page 138 view page image

THE THREE SONS. Nor guess how bright a glory crowns his shining seraph brow. The thoughts that fill his sinless soul, the bliss which he doth feel, Are numbered with the secret things which God will not reveal. But I know (for God hath told me this) that he is now at rest, Where other blessed infants be, on their Saviour’s loving breast. [ know his spirit feels no more this weary load of flesh, But his sleep is blessed with endless dreams of joy forever fresh. [ know the angels fold him close beneath their glittering wings, And soothe him with a song that breathes of Heaven’s divinest things [ know that we shall meet our babe, (his mother dear and I,) Where God for aye shall wipe away all tears from every eye. Whate’er befalls his brethren twain, his bliss can never cease; their lot may here be grief and fear, but his is certain peace. It may be that the Tempter’s wiles their souls from bliss may sever; But, if our own poor faith fail not, he must be ours forever. When we think of what our darling is, and what we still must be, When we muse on that world’s perfect bliss, and this world’s misery, When we groan beneath this load of sin, and feel this grief and pain, 0, we’d rather lose our other two, than have him here again JOHN MOULTRIE. 138

Page 139 view page image

THOSE EVENING BELLS THOSE evening bells! those evening bells! How many a tale their music tells, 139

Page 140 view page image

THE DEATH-BED. Of youth, and home, and that sweet time When last I heard their soothing chiine! Those joyous hours are passed away; And many a heart that then was gay, Within the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells. And so’twill be when I am gone; That tuneful peal will still ring on; While other bards shall walk these dells, And sing your praise, sweet evening bells. TIIOMAS MOORE THE DEATH-BED. WE
watched her breathing through the night Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. So silently we seemed to speak, So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out. 140 .6

Page 141 view page image

AUL,D ROBIN GRAY. Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied; We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping(r wlhen she (lied. For when the morn came, dim and sad, And chiill with early shlowers, Her quiet eyelids closed she had Another mnorn than ours.

THOMfAS Hi H)oi AULD ROBIN GRAY. WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hlame, \When a’ the weary warld to quiet rest are gane, The woes of my heart fa’ in showers frae my ee, Unkenned by my gudeman, who soundly sleeps by me. Young Jamnie lo’ed me weel, and sought me for his bride; But, saving ae crown piece, he’d naetlling else beside. To mak the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea; And the crown and the pound, O they were baith for me! Before hlie had been gane a twelvemonth and a day, My father brak his arm; our cow was stown away; My mother she fell sick-my Jamie was at sea; And Auld Robin Gray, 0 he cam a-courting me’ 141

Page 142 view page image

AULD ROBIN GRAY. My father cou’dna work - my mother cou’dna spin; I toiled day and night, but their bread I cou’dna win; Auld Rob maintained them baith; and, wi’ tears in his ee, Said, “Jenny, O! for their sakes, will ye marry me?” My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back; But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack; His ship it was a wrack! Why didna Jamie dee? Or wherefore am I spared to cry out, Woe is me! My father argued sair - my mother didna speak, But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break; They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the sea; And so Auld Robin Gray, he was gudeman to me. I hadna been his wife, a week but only four, When, mournfu’ as I sat on the stane at my door, I saw my Jamie’s ghaist-I cou’dna think it he, Till he said, “I’m come hame, my love, to marry thee!” O sair, sair did we greet, and mickle say of a’; Ae kiss we took, nae mair - I bade him gang awa. I wish that I were dead, but I’m no like to dee; For 0, I am but young to cry out, Woe is me!

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin. I darena think o’ Jamie, for that wad be a sin; But I will do my best a gude wife aye to be; For Auld Robin Gray, O! he is sae kind to me. LADY ANNE LINDSAY. 142

Page 143 view page image

OLD TIMES. I. OLD times, old times, the gay old times, When I was young and free, And heard the merry Easter-chimes Under the sally tree! My Sunday palm beside me placed, My cross upon my hand, A heart at rest within my breast, And sunshine on the land! Old times! Old times I II. It is not that my fortunes flee, Nor that my cheek is pale, 1 mourn whene’er I think of thee, My darling native vale! A wiser head I have, I know, Than when I loitered there; But in my wisdom there is woe, And in my knowledge care. Old times! Old tiles I III. I’ve lived to know my share of joy, To feel my share of pain, 143

Page 144 view page image

OLD TIMES. To learn that friendship’s self can cloy, To love -and love in vain; To feel a pang and wear a smile, To tire of other climes, To like my own unhappy iile, And sing the gay old times! Old times! Old times! IV.

And sure the land is nothing changed: The birds are singing still; The flowers are springing where we ranged; There’s sunshine on the hill. The sally, waving o’er my head, Still sweetly shades my frame; But ah! those happy days are fled, And I am not the same. Old times! Old times! v. O
come again, ye merry times, Sweet, sunny, fresh, and calm! And let me hear those Easter-chimes, And wear my Sunday palm. If I could cry away mine eyes, My tears would flow in vain; If I could waste my heart in sighs, They’d never come again! Old times! Old times! GERALD GRIFFIN. 144

Page 145 view page image

THE FISHER’S COTTAGE. WE sat by the fisher’s cottage, And looked at the stormy tide; The evening mist came rising, And floating far and wide. 145

Page 146 view page image

THE FISHIER’S (CO’TAGE. One by one in the lig,hlt-houLse The lamps shone out on high; And far on the dim horizon A ship went sailing by. We spoke of storm and shipwreck, Of sailors, and how they live; Of journeys’twixt sky and water, And the sorrows and joys they give. We spoke of distant countries, Ill regions strange and fair; And of the wondrous beings And curious customs there: Of perfumed lamps on the Gang,es, Which are launched in the twilight hour; And the dark and silent Brahmins, Who worship the lotus flower; Of the wretched dwarfs of Lapland, Broad-headed, wide-mouthled, and small, Who crouch round their oil-fires, cooking, And chatter and scream and bawl. And the maidens earnestly listened, Till at last we spoke no more; The ship like a shadow had vanished, And darkness fell deep on the shore. HEINRICH HEINE. (Gernian.) Translation of CHARLES

GODFREY LELAND. ~46

Page 147 view page image

OLD. BY the wayside, on a mossy stone, Sat a hoary pilgrim sadly musing; Oft I marked him sitting there alone, All the landscape like a page perusing: Poor, unknown, By the wayside, on a mossy stone! Buckled knee and shoe, and broad-rimmed hlat; Coat as ancient as the form’twas folding; Silver buttons, queue, and crimped cravat; Oaken staff, his feeble hand ulpholding: There hlie sat! Buckled knee and shoe, and broad-rimimed liat.

Seemed it pitiful he should sit there, No one sympathizing, no one hleeding, None to love him for his thin, gray hair, And the furrows all so mutely pleading Age and care: Seemed it pitiful hlie should sit there. It was Summer, and we went to school, Dapper country lads, and little maidens; Taught the motto of the “duince’s stool.’ 147

Page 148 view page image

()LI). Its grave import still niy fancye ladens “Herie’s a fool!” It was Sullmme;r, and we went to school. When the stranger seemed to mark our play Some of us were joyous, some sad-hearted. I remember well, too well, that day! Oftentimes the tears unbidden started, Would not stay, When the stranger seemed to mark our play. t48 ,,I i,- _

Page 149 view page image

OLD. One sweet spirit broke the silent spell; Ah! to me her name was always Heaven! She besought him all his grief to tell: (I was then thirteen, and she eleven,) Isabel! One sweet spirit broke the silent spell. Angel, said he sadly, I am old; Earthly hope no longer liath a morrow; Yet, why I sit here thou shalt be told. Then his eye betrayed a pearl of sorrow; Down it rolled! Angel, said he sadly, I am old. I have tottered here to look once more On the pleasant scene where I delighted In the careless, happy days of yore, Ere the garden of my heart was blighted To the core: I have tottered here to look once more. All the picture now to me how dear! E’en this gray old rock, where I am seated. Is a jewel worth my journey here; Ah, that such a scene must be completed With a tear! All the picture now to me how dear! Old stone school-house! - it is still the same: There’s the very step I so oft mounted; There’s the window creaking in its frame, 149

Page 150 view page image

OLD. And the notches that I cut and counted For the game: Old stone school-house! - it is still the same. In the cottage, yonder, I was born; Long my happy home, that humble dwelling; There the fields of clover, wheat, and corn; There the spring, with limp])id nectar swelling: Ah, forlorn! In the cottage, yonder, I was born. Those two gateway sycamores you see Then were planted just so far asunder That long well-pole from the path to free, And the wagon to pass safely under: Ninety-three! Those two gateway sycamores you see. There’s the orchard where we used to climb When my mates and I were boys together, Thinking nothing of the flight of time, Fearing naught but work and rainy weather: Past its prime! There’s the orchard where we used to climb. There the rude, three-cornered chestnut rails, Round the pasture where the flocks were grazing, Where, so sly, I used to watch for quails In the crops of buckwheat we were raising: Traps and trails! There the rude, three-cornered chestnut rails. 150

Page 151 view page image

OLID. There’s the mill that ground our yellow grain: Pond, and river, still serenely flowing; Cot, there nestling in the shaded lane, Where the lily of my heart was blowing: Maly Jane! There’s the mill that ground our yellow grain. There’s the gate on which I used to swing, Brook, and bridg(re, and barn, and old red stable; But alas! no more the morn shall bring 151

Page 152 view page image

OLD. That dear group around my father’s table: Taken wing! There’s the gate on which I used to swing. I am fleeing-all I loved have fled. Yon green meadow was our place for playing, That old tree can tell of sweet things said When around it Jane and I were straying; She is dead! I am fleeing-all I loved have fled. Yon white spire, a pencil on the sky, Tracing silently life’s changeful story, So familiar to my dim old eye, Points me to seven that are now in glory There on high: Yon white spire, a pencil on the sky! Oft the aisle of that old church we trod, Guided thither by an angel mother; Now she sleeps beneath its sacred sod; Sire and sisters, and my little brother, Gone to God! Oft the aisle of that old church we trod. There I heard of Wisdom’s pleasant ways: Bless the holy lesson! -but ah, never Shall I hear again those songs of praise Those sweet voices-silent now forever! Peaceful days! There I heard of Wisdom’s pleasant ways. 152

Page 153 view page image

OLD. There my Mary blest me with her hand When our souls drank in the nuptial blessing, Ere she hastened to the spirit-land, Yonder turf her gentle bosom pressing: Broken band! There my Mary blest me with her hand.

I have come to see that grave once more, And the sacred place where we delighted, Where we worshipped, in the days of yore, Ere the garden of my heart was blighted To the core; I have come to see that grave once more.

Angel, said he sadly, I am old; Earthly hope no longer hath a morrow; Now, why I sit here thou hast been told. In his eye another pearl of sorrow; Down it rolled! Angel, said he sadly, I am old. By the wayside, on a mossy stone, Sat the hoary pilgrim, sadly musing; Still I marked him sitting there alone, All the landscape, like a page, perusing; Poor, unknown! By the wayside, on a mossy stone. RALPH HOYT. 0 153

Page 154 view page image

THE OLD FAMII,IAR FACES. I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions, In my days of childhood, in my joyful schlool-days: All, all are gone, the old familiar faces! I have been laughing, I have been carousing, Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies: All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I loved a love once, fairest among women; Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her: All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man; Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly, Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces.

Ghostlike I paced round the haunts of my childhood; Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces. Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, Why wert not thou born in mny father’s dwelling? So might we talk of the old familiar faces: 154

Page 155 view page image

A SNOW-STORM. How some they have died, and some they have left me, And some are taken from me; all are departed: All, all are gone the old familialr faces! CIIARLES LAMB. A SNOW-STORM. IS a fearful night in the winter time, As cold as it ever can be; The roar of the blast is heard, like the chime 155

Page 156 view page image

A SNOW-STORM. Of the waves on an angry sea; The moon is full, but her silver light The storm dashes out with its wings to-night; And over the sky from south to north Not a star is seen, as the wind comes fortli In the strength of a mighty glee. II. All day had the snow come down - all day, As it never came down before; And over the hills, at sunset, lay Some two or three feet, or more; The fence was lost, and the wall of stone, The windows blocked, and the well-curbs gone; The haystack had grown to a mountain lift, And the woodpile looked like a monster drift, As it lay by the farmer’s door. The night sets in on a world of snow, While the air grows sharp and chill, And the warning roar of a fearful blow Is heard on the distant hill; And the Norther! See - on the mountain peak, In his breath how the old trees writhe and shriek I He shouts on the plain, Ho, ho, Ho, ho! He drives from his nostrils the blinding snow, And growls with a savage will. III. Such a night as this to be found abroad In the drifts and the freezing air, 156

Page 157 view page image

A SNOW-STORM. Sits a shivering dog in the field by the road, With the snow in his shaggy hair! He shuts his eyes to the wind, and growls; He lifts his head, and moans and howls; Then crouching low from the cutting sleet, His nose is pressed on his quivering feet: Pray, what does the dog do there? A farmer came from the village l)laill, But he lost the travelled way; And for hours he trod, with might and main. A path for his horse and sleilgh; But colder still the cold wind blew, And deeper still the deep drifts glew, And his mare, a beautiful Morgan brown, At last in her struggles floundered down, Where a log in a hollow lay. In vain, with a neigh and a frenzied snort, She plunged in the drifting snow, While her master urged, till his breath grew sliort, With a word and a gentle blow; But the snow was deep, and the tugs were tight, His hands were numb, and had lost their iiglit; So he wallowed back to his half-filled sleigli, And strove to shelter himself till day, With his coat and the buffalo. IVr. He has given the last faint jerk of the rein To rouse up his dying steed, lI)i

Page 158 view page image

A SNOW-STORM. And the poor dog howls to the blast in vain, For help in his master’s need; For a while he strives, with a wistful cry, ‘to catch a glance from his drowsy eye, And wags his tail if the rude winds flap The skirt of the buffalo over his lap, And whines when he takes no heed. 158

Page 159 view page image

A SN()W-STORM. V. The wind goes down, and the storm is o’er: ‘Tis the hour of midnight past; The old trees writhe and bend no more In the whirl of the rushing blast; The silent moon, with her peaceful ligllt, Looks down on the hills, with snow all white And the giant shadow of Camel’s HiiiuiThe blasted pine and the ghostly stunl)mp, Afar on the plain are cast. But cold and dead, by the hidden log, Are they who came from the town: The man in his sleigh, and his faithful dog, And his beautiful Morgan brownIn the wide snow-desert, far and grand, With his cap on his head, and the reins in his hand, The dog( with his nose on his master’s feet, And the mare half seen through the crusted sleet, \Wllere slie lay when she floundered down. CH 4,RLES GAMAGE EASTMAN. 159

Page 160 view page image

MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE. MY heid is like to rend, Willie, My heart is like to break; I’m wearin’ aff my feet, Willie, I’m dyin’ for your sake! 0, lay your cheek to mine, Willie Your hand on my briest bane; 0, say ye’ll think on me, Willie, When I am deid and gane! It’s vain to comfort me, Willie: Sair grief maun ha’e its will. But let me rest upon your brie:t, To sab and greet my fill. Let me sit on your knee, Willie, Let me shed by your hair, And look into the face, Willie, I never sall see mair! I’m sittin’ on your knee, Willie, For the last time in my life: A puir heart-broken thing, Willie. A mither, yet nae wife! 1 C)o

Page 161 view page image

MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WII,LE.F,. Ay, press your hand upon my heart, And press it mair and mair, Or it will burst the silken twine, Sae strang is its despair. 0, wae’s me for the hour, Willie, When we thegither met! 0, wae’s me for the time, Willie, That our first tryst was set! O, wae’s me for the loanin’ gleenl .Where we were wont to gae! And wae’s me for the destinie That gart me luve thee sae! 0, dinna mind my words, Willie: I downa seek to blame; But 0, it’s hard to live, Willie, And dree a warld’s shame! Het tears are hailin’ ower your cheek, And hailin’ ower your chin: Why weep ye sae for worthlessness, For sorrow, and for sin? I’m weary o’

this warld, Willie, And sick wi’ a’ I see; I canna live as I ha’e lived, Or be as I should be. But fauld unto your heart, Willie, The heart that still is thine, And kiss ance mair the white, white cheek Ye said was red langsyne. 161

Page 162 view page image

MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE. A stoun’ gaes through my hleid, Willie, A sair stoun’ through my heart; O haud me up, and let me kiss Thy brow ere we twa pairt. Anithler, and anithler yet! How fast my lifestring,s break!

Fareweel, fareweel! through you kirkyard Step lichtly for my sake! The lavrock in the lift, Willie, That lilts far ower our hleid, Will sing the morn as merrilie Abune the clay-cauldl deid;And this green turf we’re sittin’ on, Wi’ dew-draps shimmerin’ sheen, Will hap the heart that luvit thee As warld has seldom seen. But 0, remember me, Willie, On land where’er ye be; And 0, think on the leal, leal heart, That ne’er luvit ane but thee! And 0, think on the cauld, cauld mools That fyle my yellow hair, That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin Ye never sall kiss mair! WILLIAM

MOTIIERWELL. 162

Page 163 view page image

THE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE COME live with me, and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, Woods or steepy mountains yields. There will we sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds shilg madrigals. There will I make thee beds of roses. With a thousand fragrant posies; A cap of flowers, and a kirtle, Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle; A gown, made of the finest wool Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Fair-lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold; A belt of straw, and ivy buds, With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me, and be my love. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing, For thy delight each May morning: If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me, and be my love. CIIRISTOPHER MARLOWIL 163

Page 164 view page image

THE NYMPH’S REPLY IF that the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd’s tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move, To live with thee and be thy love. But time drives flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold; And Pllilomel becometh dumb, And all complain of cares to come. The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward Winter reckoning yields; A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy’s Spring, but sorrow’s Fall. Thy gowvns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps, and amber studs: All these in me no means can move To come to thee, and be thy love. 164

Page 165 view page image

THE SONG OF THE CAMP. But could youth last, and love still breed, Had joys no date, nor age no need, Then these delights my mind might move To live with thee, and be thy love. SIR WVALITEiR RALEIGH. THE SONG OF THE CAMIP.

“GIVE us a song!” the soldiers cried, The outer trenches guarding, When the heated guns of the camps allied Grew weary of bombarding. The dark Redan, in silent scoff, Lay, grim and threatening, under: And the tawny mound of the Malakoff No longer belched its thunder. There was a pause. A guardsman said, “We storm the forts to-morrow; Sing while we may, another day Will bring enough of sorrow.” They lay along the battery’s side, Below the smoking cannon; Brave hearts, from Severn and from Clyde, And from the banks of Shannon. 165

Page 166 view page image

THE SONG OF THE CAMP. They sang of love, and not of fame, Forgot was Britain’s glory; Each heart recalled a different name, But all sang “Annie Lawrie.” Voice after voice caught up the song, Until its tender passion Rose like an anthem rich and strong, Their battle-eve confession. Dear girl, her name he dared not speak, But, as the song grew louder, Something upon the soldier’s cheek Washed off the stains of powder. Beyond the darkening ocean burned The bloody sunset’s embers, While the Crimean valleys learned How English love remembers. And once again a fire of hell 9 Rained on the Russian quarters, With scream of shot, and burst of shell, And bellowing of the mortars! And Irish Nora’s eyes are dim For a singer, dumb and gory: And English Mary mourns for him Who sang of “Annie Lawrie.”

166

Page 167 view page image

SONNET. Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest Your truth and valor wearing: The bravest are the tenderest, The loving are the daring. BAYARD

TAYLOR. SONNET. BEAUTY still walketh on the earth and air, Our present sunsets are as rich in gold As ere the Iliad’s music was out-rolled: The roses of the Spring are ever fair, ‘Mong branches green still ring-doves coo and pair, And the deep sea still foams its music old. So, if we are at all divinely souled, This beauty will unloose our bonds of care. ‘Tis pleasant, when blue skies are o’er us bending Within old starry-gated Poesy, To meet a soul set to no worldly tune, Like thine, sweet Friend!

Oh, dearer this to me Than are the dewy trees, the sun, the moon, Or noble music with a golden ending. ALEXANDER SMITH. 167 - .

Page 168 view page image

BLOSSOM-TIMIE. TIHERE’S a wedding in the orchlard, (lear, I know it by the flowers: They’re wreathed on every bough and branch, Or falling down in showers. 168 OR”

Page 169 view page image

BLOSSOM-TIME. The air is in a mist, I think, And scarce knows which to be - Whether all fragrance, clinging close, Or bird-song, wild and free. And countless wedding-jewels shine, And golden gifts of grace: I never saw such wealth of sun In any shady place. It seemed I heard the flutt’ring robes Of maidens clad in white, The clasping of a thousand hands In tenderest delight; While whispers ran among the boughs Of promises and praise; And playful, loving messages Sped through the leaf-lit ways. And just beyond the wreathed aisles That end against the blue, The raiment of the wvedding-choir And priest came shining through. And thougoh I saw no wedding-g,uest, Nor groom, nor gentle bride, I know that holy things were asked, And holy love replied. 169

Page 170 view page image

A WISH. And something through the sunlight said “Let all who love be blest! The earth is wedded to the spring - And God, He knoweth best.” MARY

E. DOI)(,:. A WISH. MINE be a cot beside the hill! A beehive’s hum shall soothe my ear; A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near. The swallow oft, beneath my tllatch, Shlall twitter from her clay-built nest; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal -a welcome guest. Around my ivied porch shall spring Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; And Lucy at her wheel shall sing, In russet gown, and apron blue. The village church, among the trees, Where first our marriage vows were given, With merry peals shall swell the breeze, And point with taper spire to heaven. SAMUEL ROGERS , 170

Page 171 view page image

A DAY-DREAM. MINE eyes make pictures wnen tney’re shut: I see a fountain, large and fair, A willow and a ruined hut, And thee, and me, and Mary there. O Mary, make thy gentle lap our pillow! Bend o’er us like a bower, my beautiful green willow’ A wild rose roofs the ruined shed, And that and summer well agree; And lo! where Mary leans her head, Two dear names carved upon the tree! And Mary’s tears, they are not tears of sorrow: Our sister: and our friend will both be here to-morrow. ‘T was day! But now, few, large, and bright, The stars are round the crescent moon; And now it is a dark, warm night, The balmiest of the month of June. A glow-worm fallen, and on the marge remounting, Shines, and its shadow shines-fit stars for our sweet fountain! 0, ever, ever be thou blest! For dearly, Nora, love I thee. This brooding warmth across my breast - This depth of tranquil bliss -ahl, me! 171

Page 172 view page image

172 IF I HAD THOUGHT THOU COULDST HAVE DIED. Fount, tree, and shed are gone, I know not whlithler: But in one quiet room we three are still together. The shadows dance upon the wall, By the still-dancing fire-flames made; And now they slumber, moveless all; And now they melt to one deep shade. But not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee: I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart I feel thee. Thine eyelash on my cheek doth play; ‘T is Mary’s hand upon my brow! But let mne check this tender lay, Which none mnay hear but she and thou. Like the still hive, at quiet midnight humming, Murmur it to yourselves, ye two beloved women!

SAMUEL TAYLOR COI,LRII)GE: IF I HAD THOUGHT THOU COULDS r HAVE DIED. IF I had thought thou couldst have died, I might not weep for thee; But I forgot when by thy side, That thou couldst mortal be. It never through my mind had past That time would e’er be o’er, And I on thee should look my last, And thou shouldst smile no more. .0

Page 173 view page image

IF I HAD THOUGHT THOU COULDST HAVE DIE). 173 And still upon that face I look, And think’twill smile again; And still the thought I will not brook That I must look in vain. But when I speak, thou dost not say What thou ne’er left’st unsaid; And now I feel, as well I may, Sweet Mary, thou art dead! If thou wouldst stay e’en as thou art, All cold and all serene, I still might press thy silent heart, And where thy smiles have been. While e’en thy chill bleak corse I have, Thou seemest still mine own; But there-I lay thee in thy grave, And I am now alone. I do not think, where’er thou art, Thou hast forgotten me; And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart In thinking too of thee; Yet there was round thee such a dawn Of light ne’er seen before, As fancy never could have drawn, And never can restore. CHARLES WOLF].

Page 174 view page image

WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE. WOODMAN, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough I In youth it sheltered me, And I’ll protect it now. ‘Twas my forefather’s hand That placed it near his cot; There, woodminan, let it stand: Thine axe shall harm it not. That old familiar tree, Whose glory and renown Are spread o’er land and sea, And wouldst thou hew it down?

Woodman, forbear thy stroke: Cut not its earth-bound ties. 0, spare that aged oak, Now towering to the skies I When but an idle boy, I sought its gratefuil shade; In all their gushing joy Here too my sisters played. My mother kissed me here, My father pressed my hand. Forgive this foolish tear, But let that old oak stand. 174

Page 175 view page image

WHEN THE KYE COME HAME. My heartstrings round thee cling, Close as thy bark, old friend! Here shall the wild bird sing, And still thy branches bend. Old tree, the storm still brave; Ar-d, woodman, leave the spot: While I’ve a hand to save, Thine axe shall harm it not. GEORGE P. MORRIs.

WHEN THE KYE COME HAME. COME all ye jolly shepherds, That whistle through the glen I’ll tell ye o’ a secret That courtiers dinna ken: What is the greatest bliss That the tongue o’ man can namine? ‘Tis to woo a bonnie lassie When the kye come hame. When the kye come hame, When the kye come harne: ‘Tween the gloamin’ an’ the m’rk, TVhen the kye come hame. ‘Tis not beneath the burgonet, Nor yet beneath the crown; ‘Tis not on couch o’

velvet, Nor yet in bed o’ down: 175

Page 176 view page image

WHEN TlHE KYE COME HAMNIE. Tis beneath the spreading, birk, In the glen without the name, Wi’ a bonnie bonnie lassie, When the kye come hame.

There the blackbird bigs his nest, For the mate he lo’es to see, And on the tapmost bough 0, a happy bird is he! There he pours his melting ditty, And love is a’ the theme; And he’ll woo his bonnie lassie, When the kye come hame. Wlien the blewart bears a pearl, And the daisy turns a pea, And the bonnie lucken gowan Has fauldit up his ee, Then the lavrock, frae the blue lift, Draps down and thinks nae shanme To woo his bonnie lassie, When the kye come hame. See yonder pawky shepherd, That lingers on the hill: His yowes are ill the fauld, And his lambs are lying still; Yet he downa gang to bed, For his heart is in a flame, To meet his bonnie lassie When the kye come hame. 1‘76

Page 177 view page image

WHEN THE KYE COME HAME. When the little wee bit heart Rises high in the breast, And the little wee bit starn Rises red in the east, O! there’s a joy sae dear That the heart can hardly frame, Wi’ a bonnie bonnie lassie, When the kye come haine. Then since all Nature joins In this love without alloy, O! wha wad prove a traitor To Nature’s dearest joy? Or -wha wad choose a crown, Wi’ its perils an’ its fame, And miss his bonnie lassie, When the kye come hame, When the kye come hame: When the kye come hame: ‘Tween the gloamin’ an’ the gnirk, When the kye come hamte. JAMES HoGt.

Page 178 view page image

ANGELS BY THE DOOR. O! THERE be angels evermwore, A-passen onward by the door, A-zent to teake our jays, or come To bring us zome O-0 Meairianne.

Though doors be shut, an’ bars be stout. Noo bolted door can keep em out; But they wull leave us everything They have to bring-My Meairianne. An’

zoo the daes a-stealen by, Wi’ zuns a-riden droo the sky, Do bring us things to leave us sad, Or meaike us glad-O Meiirianne. The dae that’s mild, the dae that’s stern, Do teaike, in stillness, each his turn An’

evils at their wo’st mid mend, Or even end -My Mearianne. But still, if we can only beaire, Wi’ faith all’ love, our pain an’ ceare, We shan’t vind missen jay a-lost, Though we be crost -0 Mearianne; But all a-car’d to heaven, all’ stowed, Where we can’t weiiste em on the road, 178

Page 179 view page image

COME BACK! As we do wander to an’ fro, Down here below-My Mearianne. But there be jays I’d soonest ch To keep, vrom they that I must Thy worksome hands to help m Thy cheerful smile-O Mearian The Zunday bells o’ yaner tow The moonlight sheades o’ my ow An’ rest avore our vier-zide, At evene’n-tide -My Meirianne. WILLIAM BARNES. COME BACK! COME from your long, long roving, On the sea so wild and rough! Come to me tender and loving, And I shall be blessed enough! Where your sails have been unfurling, What winds have blown on your brow, I know not, and ask not, my darling, So that you come to me now. Sorrowftil, sinful, and lonely, Poor and despised though you be, All are as nothing, if only You turn from the tempter to me. 179 t .0

Page 180 view page image

PH II,IP, MY KING. Of mnell tliough you be unforgiven, ‘rlioough priest be unable to shlrive, I’ll pray till I weary all hleaven, If olyl you’ll come back alive. A,NONYMOUS. PHILIP, MY KING. I,OOK at me with thy large brown eyes, Pllilip, my King! 180 * I; l-.1 ~~- I ~ - s .

Page 181 view page image

PHILIP, MY KiNG. iFor round thee the purple shadow lies Of babyhood’s regal dignities. Lay on my neck thy tiny hand, WVith Love’s invisible sceptre laden: I am thline Esther, to command Till thllou shlalt find tlhy queen-hand(maiden, Philip, my Kingg! 0, the day when thou goest a-wooi(ng, Philip, iny Ki,ng! WVlhen those beautiful li)s are suing, And, some gentle hleart’s bars undoing, Tlhou dost enter, love-crowned, and there Sittest all glorified!- -rule kindly, Tenderly, over tlhy kin(rdom fair; iFor we that love, all! we love so blindly, Philip, miy Ki,ng! I gaze from thy sweet mouth u1) to tlhy brow, Philip, my King! Ay! there lies tlihe spirit, all sleeping now, That may rise like a giant, and make men bow As to one God-tllroned amid his peers. Mly Saul! than thy brethren highler and fairer Let me bellold thee in comingll years. Yet thy head needethl a circlet rarer, Philip, my King  A wreathl, not of gold, but palm.

Phlilip, my Kiing! Thou too must tread, as we tread, I 81 Ojie day,

Page 182 view page image

THE LOVED NOT LOST. Thorny, and bitter, and cold, and gray; Rebels within thee, and foes without, Will snatch at thy crown. But go on, glorious: Martyr, yet monarch! till angels shout, As thou sit’st at the feet of God victorious, “Philip, the IKing!” DINAH MARIA MULOCH. THE LOVED NOT LOST.

How strange it seems with so much gone Of life and love, to still live on!

Ah, brother, only I and thou Are left of all that circle now, The dear home faces whereupon That fitful firelight paled and shone, Henceforward, listen as we will, The voices of that hearth are still, Look where we may the wide earth o’er, Those lighted faces shine no more. We tread the paths their feet have worn, We sit beneath their orchard trees, We hear, like them, the hum of bees And rustle of the bladed corn; We turn the pages that they read, Their written words we linger o’er, But in the sun they cast no shade, No voice is heard, no sign is made. 182 _

Page 183 view page image

LARV2E. No step is on the conscious floor! Yet love will dream, and faith will trust Since He who knows our need is just, That somehow somewhere meet we must. Alas for him who never sees The stars shine through his cypress-trees! Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play! Who hath not learned in hours of faith, The truth to flesh and sense unknown, That Life is ever Lord of Death, And love can never lose its own! JOHN GREENLEAF WUTTIER.

LARVAE. MY little maiden of four years old (No myth but a genuine child is she, With her bronze-brown eyes and her curls of gold) Came quite in disgust, one day, to me. Rubbing her shoulder with rosy palm, As the loathsome touch seemed yet to thrill her, She cried,-” Oh, mother I found on my arm A horrible, crawling caterpillar!” 18g i

Page 184 view page image

LARVE. And with mischievous smile she could scarcely smother, Yet a glance, in its daring, half-awed and shy, She added: “While they were about it, mother, I wish they’d just finished the butterfly!” They were words to the thought of the soul that turns From the coarser form of a partial growth, Reproaching the Infinite Patience that yearns With an unknown glory to crown them both. Ah, look thou largely with lenient eyes,. On whatso beside thee may creep and cling, For the possible beauty that underlies The passing phase of the meanest thing! What if God’s great angels, whose waiting love Beholdeth our pitiful life below, From the holy height of their Heaven above Couldn’t bear with the worm till the wings shouldcgrow? ADELINE D. T. WHITNEL 184

Page 185 view page image

THE WONDERFU’ WEAN. OUR wean’s the most wonderfiu’ wean e’er I saw; It would tak me a lang simmer day to tell a’ His pranks, frae the mornin’

till night shuts his ee, When he sleeps like a peerie,‘tween father and me; For in his quite turns siccan questions he’ll speir! How the moon can stick up in the sky that’s sae clear? What gars the wind blaw? and whar frae comes the rain? He’s a perfec’ divirt - he’s a wonderfu’ wean! Or wha was the first bodie’s father? and wha MIade the vera first snaw-shooer that ever did fa’? And wha made the first bird that sang on a tree? And the water that soon’s a’ the ships in the sea? But after I’ve told him as weel as I ken, Again he begins wi’ his wha and his when; And he looks aye sae wistfu’ the whiles I explain He’s as auld as the hills he’s an auld-farrant wean. And folk wha hae skill o’ the lumps on the head Hint there’s mae ways than toilin’ o’ winnin’ ane’s bread; How he’ll be a rich man, and hae men to work for him, Wi’ a kyte like a baillie’s, shugo-shuggrin’ afore him; Wi’ a face like the moon-sober, sonsy, and douce, And a back, for its breadth, like the side o’ a house. 185

Page 186 view page image

TIlE WONDERFU’ WEAiN. ‘Tweel! I’m unco ta’en up wi’t - they mak a’ sac plain. He’s just a town’s talk; he’s a by-ord’nar wean! I ne’er can forget sic a laugh as I gat, To see him put on father’s waistcoat and hat; Then the lang-leggit boots gaed sac far owre his knees The tap-loops wi’ his fingers he grippit wi’ ease; Then he marched through the house, he marched but, he marches ben, Like owre mony mae o’ our great little men, That I leuch clean outright, for I cou’dna contain: He was sic a conceit-sic an ancient-like wean! But’mid a’ his daffin sic kindness he shows, That he’s dear to my heart as the dew to the rose; And the unclouded hinny-beam aye in his ee Maks himn every day dearer and dearer to me. Though Fortune be saucy, and dorty, and dour, And gloom through her fingers like hills through a shooer, When bodies hae gat a bit bit bairn o’ their anm, How he cheers up their hearts!- he’s a wonderfti’ wean! WILLIAM MILLER. 186

Page 187 view page image

K ~ ;~~~/ f. < BINGEN ON THE RHINE. A SOLDIER of the legion lay dying in Algiers Tlhere was lack of woman’s nursing, there was dearth of woman’s tears; But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away, And bent with pitying(r glances, to hear what he mighit say. ThIe dying soldier faltered, as hle took that comrade’s hand, And he said “I never more shall see my own, my native land. Take a message and a token to some distant friends of mine; For I was born at Bingen-at Bingen on the Rhline. ” Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around, To hear my mournfiul story, in the pleasant vineyard ground, That we fought the battle bravely; and when the day was done, Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath the setting sun. 187

Page 188 view page image

BINGEN ON TIlE RHINE. Andl midst the dead and dying were some grown old in wars, The death-wounds on their gallant breasts the last of miany scars; But some were young, and suddenly behleld life’s morn decline; And one had come froln Bing,en -fair Bingen on the Rliiie! “Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, For I was still a truant bird that thlought his home a cage; For my father was a soldier, and even as a child My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild. And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, I let them take wliate’er they would-but kept my ftthler’s sword; And with boyish love I hung it, where the brigllt light used tu shine, On the cottage wall at Bingen-calm Bingen on the Rhine. Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with d(rooping head, When the troops come marchllincr hlome again, with glad and gallant tread; But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, For her brother was a soldier too, and not afrtaid to die; And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame; And to hang the old sword in its place, my fathler’s sword and mine, For the Ihnor of old Bing,en -dear Bingen on the Rhlline. ” There’s another, not a sister: in the hlappy days gone by You’d have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye Too innocent for coquetry, too fond for idle scorning: 0, friend! I fear the lightest liheart makes sometimes heaviest mourning. Tell her the last night of my life (for ere this moon be risen, 188

Page 189 view page image

BINGEN ON TI’E RHINE. f I (; f<f<’~’ My bo(ly will be out of pIain, my soul be out of prison), I dreamed( I stood with her, and saw-the yellow sunlight sliiic On tlhe v-ine-clad hills of Bing,en-fitir Bingen on tile Rlhine. I saw thle l)lle Rhine sweep along; i hearac, or seemed to lear, ‘l’lie German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear; Ad(I (down thie pleasant river, and up the slantinr lhill, Tlie echoing clhorus sonnded, tlhroughl the eveniing calm and still And her (lad blue eyes were on me, as we passed, withi friendlyv talk, I)own many a path beloved of yore, an(l well-remembered walk; An(d her little hand lay lightly, confid(lingly in mine: lit we’ll meet no more at Bingen-loved Bingen on tile Rlhine!” His voice grew faint and( loarse -his grasp was childislh weak; [lis eyes pilt on a (dying look-he sig(hed, and ceased to speak: 189 0

Page 190 view page image

BINGEN ON THE RHINE. flis comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled: The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land& was dead! And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corpses strown. Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine, As it shone on distant Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine. CAROLINE ELIZABETHI NORTON. ‘~ - V ft <~ - ~~ 190 .

Page 191 view page image

WILLIE WINKIE. WEE Willie Winkie rins through the town, Up stairs and doon stairs, in his nicht-gonm Tirlin’ at the window, cryin’ at the lock, “Are the weans in their bed? -for it’s now ten o’clock.” Hey, Willie Winkie!

are ye comin’ ben? The cat’s singin’ gay thrums to the sleepin’ hen, The doug’s speldered on the floor, and disn.a gie a cheep; But here’s a waukrife laddie, that winna fa’ asleep. Onything but sleep, ye rogue! -
glow’rin’ like the moon, Rattlin’ in an aimrn jug wi’ an aimrn spoon, Rumblin’, tumblin’ roun’ about, crawin’ like a cock, Skirlin’ like a kenna-whlat- wauknin’ sleepin’ folk! Hey, Willie Winkie! the wean’s in a creel! Wamblin’ aff a bodie’s knee like a vera eel, Ruggin’ at the cat’s lug, and ravelin’ a’ her thrums: Hey, Willie Winkie! -See, there he comes!

Wearie is the mither that has a storie wean, A wee stumpie stoussie, that canna rin his lane, That has a battle aye wi’ sleep, before he’ll close an ee; But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies strength anew to me. WrlLLT,IAM

MIL,LER. 191 0

Page 192 view page image

THE LEGEND OF THE STEPMOTHEIR. As I lay asleep, as I lay asleep, Under the grass as I lay so deep, As I lay asleep in my cotton sirk Under the shade of Our Lady’s kirk, 1 wakened up in the dead of night, I wakened up in mv death-sirk white, And I heard a cry from far away, And I knew the voice of my daughter Mav: Mother, mother, come hither to me! Mother, mother, come hither and see! Mother, mother, mother dear, Another mother is sitting here. My body is bruised, and in pain I cry; On straw in the dark afraid I lie; I thirst and hunger for drink and meat; And, mother, mother, to sleep were sweet!” I heard the cry, though my grave was deep, And awoke firom sleep, awoke from sleep. II. I awoke from sleep, I awoke from sleep: Up I rose from my grave so deep! The earth was black, but overhead The stars were yellow, the moon was red; And I walked along, all white and thin, Andl lifted the latch and entered in, 192 9 1.

Page 193 view page image

THE LEGEND OF THE STEPMIOTIER. And reached the chamber as dark as night, And though it was dark my face was white: Mother, mother, I look on thee Mother, mother, you frighten me! For your chleeks are thin and your hlair is gray! But I smiled, and kissed her fears away; I smoothed her lhair and I sang a song, And on my knee I rocked her long: 0O mother, mother, sing low to me I am sleepy now, and I cannot see!” I kissed her, but I could not weel); And she went to sleep, she went to sleep. III. As we lay asleep, as we lay asleep, My May and I, in our grave so (leep, As we lay asleep in the midnighlt milk, Under the shade of Our Lady’s kirk, I wakened up in the dead of night, Thou(gh May my daughter lay warm and wliite; And I heard the cry of a little one, And I knew’t was the voice of Hugh my son: Mother, mother, come hither to me Mother, mother, come hither and see Mother, mother, mother dear, Another mother is sitting here. My body is bruised and my heart is sad; Bult I speak my mind, and call them bad. I thirst and hunger night and day, And were I strong 1 would fly away!” 193

Page 194 view page image

TIlE LEGEND OF THE STEPMOTHER. I heard the cry, though my grave was deep, And awoke from sleep, and awoke from sleep. IV. I awoke from sleep, I awoke from sleep: UIp I rose from my grave so deep! The earth was black, but overhead The stars were yellow, the moon was red; And I walked along, all white and thin, And lifted the latch and entered in: “Mother, mother, and art thou here? I know your face, and I feel no fear. Raise me, mother, and kiss my cheek, For 0, I am wearv and sore and weak!” I smoothed his hair with a mother’s joy, And he laughed aloud, my own brave boy’ I raised and held him on my breast, Sang him a song, and bade him rest: “Mother, mother, sing low to me - I am sleepy now, and I cannot see!” I kissed him, and I could not weep, As he went to sleep, as he went to sleep. V. As I lay asleep, as I lay asleep, With my girl and boy in my grave so deep, As I lay asleep I awoke in fearAwoke, but awoke not my children dear, And heard a cry so low and weak From a tiny voice that could not speak; 194

Page 195 view page image

THE LEGEND OF THE STEPMOTHER. I heard the cry of a little one, My bairn that could neither talk nor run  My little, little one, uncaressed, Starving for lack of the milk of the breast I And I rose from sleep and entered in, And found my little one pinchled and thin, And crooned a song and hushed its moan, And put its lips to my white breast-bone And the red, red moon that lit the place Went white to look at tile little face; And I kissed and kissed, and I could not weep, As it went to sleep, as it went to sleep. VI. As it lay asleep, as it lay asleep, I set it down in the darkness deep, Smoothed its limbs and laid it out, And drew the curtains around about; Then into the dark, dark room I hied Where he lay awake at the woman’s side; And though the chamber was black as night He saw my face, for it was so white. I gazed in his eyes, and he shrieked in pain, And I knew he would never sleep again; And back to my grave went silently, And soon my baby was broughlt to me. My son and daughter beside nme rest, My little baby is on my breast; Our bed is warm and our grave is deepBut he cannot sleep, lie cannot sleep! ROBERT BUCHANAN. 195

Page 196 view page image

~~~~% ; ~ _ _ ; ;#4” SEVEN TIMES ONE. THERE’S no dew left on the daisies and clover, There’s no rain left in heaven. I’ve said my “Seven times”

over and over Seven times one are seven. 196 I I I l

Page 197 view page image

SEVEN TIMES ONE. I am old -so old I can write a letter; My birthday lessons are done. The lambs play always-they know no better They are only one times one. O Moon. ii the night I have seen you sailing And shining so round and low. You were bright-ah, bright! - but your light is failing: You.are nothing now but a bow. You Moon, have you done something wrong in heaven, That God has hidden your face? I hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven, And shine again in your place. 0 velvet Bee! you’re a dusty fellow You’ve powdered your legs with gold. 0 brave marsh Mary-buds, rich and yellow, Give me your money to hold! 0 columbine! open your folded wrapper, Where two twin turtle-doves dwell! 0 cuckoo-pint! toll me the purple clapper That hangs in your clear green bell! And show me your nest, with the young ones in it - I will not steal them away: I am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet! I am seven times one to-day. JEAN INGELOW. 197

Page 198 view page image

AROUND me Life’s hell of fierce ardors’Iurns, When I come home, when I comie lhome; Over me Heaven with her starry heart yearns, When I come home, when I come home. For the feast of God garnished, the palace of Night At a thousand star-windows is throbbing with light. London makes mirth; but I know God hears The sobs in the dark, and the dropping of tears; For I feel that He listens down Night’s great dome, When I come home, when I come home: Home, home, when I come home - Far i’ the night, when I come home! WHEN I COME HOME. I walk under Nighlt’s triumphal arch, When I come home, when I come home, Exulting with life like a conqueror’s march, When I come home, when I come home. I pass by the rich-chambered mansions that shine, Overflowing with splendor like goblets with wine: I have fought, I have vanquished, the dragon of toil, And before me my golden Hesperides smile; And 0, but Love’s flowers make rich the gloom, When I come home, when I come home! Home, home, when I come home - Far i’

the night, when I come home! 198

Page 199 view page image

WHEN I COME HOME. 0, the sweet, merry mouths upturned to be kist, When I come home, when I come home! How the younglings yearn from the hungry nest, When I come home, when I come home! My weary, worn heart into sweetness is stirred, And it dances and sings like a singing bird On the branch nighest heaven a-top of my lifeAs I clasp thee, my winsome, wooing Wife! And thy pale cheek with rich, tender passion doth bloom When I come home, when I come home: Home, home, when I come home Far i’ the night, when I come home I Clouds fall off the shining face of my life, When I come home, when I come home, And leave heaven bare on thy bosom, sweet Wife, When I come home, when I come home! I With her smiling energies, Faith warm and bright, With love glory-crowned and serenely alightWith her womanly beauty and queenly calmShe steals to my heart with her blessing of balm; And 0, but the wine of love sparkles with foam When I come home, when I come home Home, home, when I come home: Far i’ the night, when I come home! GERALD MASSEY. 199

Page 200 view page image

SWVEET and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea! Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go; Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. 200 LULLABY.

Page 201 view page image

THE G,ENTLE SOUL. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest! Father will come to thee soon. Rest, rest on mother’s breast: Father will come to thee soon Father will come to his babe in the nest; Silver sails all out of the west, Under thle silver moon. Sleep, my little one! sleep, my pretty one, sleel) ALFRED TENNYSON THE GENTLE SOUL. YE gentle souls! ye love-devoted fair!

Who, passing by, to Pity’s voice incline, 0 stay awhile and hear me! then declare If there was ever grief that equals mine. There was a woman to whose sacred breast Faith had retired, where Honor fixed his throne; Pride, though upheld by Virtue, she represt: Ye gentle souls! that woman was my own. beauty in her face; did, in all she said - re there was grace: t gentle soul is fled. FRANCESCO RED1. (Italian.) Translation of WALTER

SAVAGE LANDOER. 201 0

Page 202 view page image

I’M GROWING OLD. MY days pass pleasantly away, My nights are blest with sweetest sleep: I feel no symptoms of decay, I have no cause to mourn nor weep; My foes are impotent and shly, My friends are neither false nor cold; And yet, of late, I often sigh: “I’m growing old.’ My growing talk of olden times, My growing thirst for early news, MvIy growing apathy to rhymes, My growing love of easy shoes, My growing hate of crowds and noise, My growing fear of taking cold: All whisper, in the plainest voice, I’m growing old. I’m growing fonder of my staff, I’m growing dimmer in the eyes, I’m growing fainter in my laugh, I’m growing deeper in my sighs, I’m growing careless of my dress, I’m growing frugal of my gold, I’m growi(ng wise, I’m growing-yes, I’m growing old. 202

Page 203 view page image

I’M GROWING( OLD. I see it in my changing taste, I see it in my changing hair, [ see it in my growing waist, I see it in my growing heir; A thousand signs proclaim the truth, As plain as truth was ever told, That, even in my vaunted youth, I’m growing old Ah me! my very laurels breathe The tale in my reluctant ears, And every boon the Hours bequeathe But makes me debtor to the Years. E’en Flattery’s honeyed words declare The secret she would fain withhold, And tell me, in ” How young you are. I’m growing old. Thanks for the years whose rapid flight My sombre muse too sadly sings! Thanks for the gleams of golden light That tint the darkness of their wings: The light that beams from out the sky, Those Heavenly mansions to unfold Where all are blest, and none may sigh “I’m growing old!” JoHN GODFREY SAXE 203

Page 204 view page image

Page 205 view page image

SONGS OF THE IHEART.

Page 206 view page image

Page 207 view page image

‘1)34!tAl X.IIS,A 114l I)tt[ioiu s;oq A ci,,l i, il’ono~iit oLI!4aTijuo; a i-i ‘,,‘T,,.I}TO()(‘,,TTT …: - -r.

Page 208 view page image

THE DOORSTEP. To see the girls come tripping past Like snow-birds willing to be mated. Not braver he that leaps the wall By level musket-flashes litten, Than I, who stepped before them all Who longed to see me get the initten. But no, she blushed and took my arn m! We let the old folks have the hiighway, 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 wras full, the fields were gleamingBy hood and tippet sheltered sweet Her face with youth and health was beaming. The little hand outside her muff 0 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 bleinded: 206

Page 209 view page image

THE DOORSTEP. At last we reached the foot-worn stone Where that delicious journey ended. She shook her ringlets 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, 0 listless woman! weary lover! To feel once more that fresh wild thrill, I’d give-But who can live youth over EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. 209 I

Page 210 view page image

ANNABEL LEE. IT was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden lived, whom you may know, By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love, and be loved by, me. I was a child, and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea; Buit we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee: With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her high-born kinsmen came, And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me. Yes! that was the reason (as all men know), In this kingdom by the sea, That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. ?I0

Page 211 view page image

THE,WEEPEN LIADY. But our love it was stronger by far thani the love Of those who were older than we, Of many far wiser than we; And neither the angels ill 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 bringilng me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. And so, all the night-tide I lie down by the side Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea. EDGAR ALLAN POE. ‘FILiiE WEEPEN LIADY. WHEN
liate o’ nights, above the green, By thlik 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 poor weepen liady. 211 -0

Page 212 view page image

THE W’EEPEN LIADY. Thle wlirdlen win’ and whislen s(lnall Da slhiake the ivy by the wall, An’ miake the plyen tree-tops rock, But never ruffle hler whlite frock; An’ slammen door, an’ rottlen lock, That in thlik empty house da zoun(ld, Da never zeem to miake look ro()n(l Thik ever downcast liady. A liady, as the tiale da goo, That oonce lived tlhere, an’ loved too true, WVer by a youing man cast azide: A mothler zad, but not a bride; An’ then her father, in his pride An’ anger, offered oon o’ two Vull bitter things to undergoo, To thik poor Weepell liady: That she hlierzuf shood leave his door, To darken it agen noo muore; Ar that hler little playsome clile, A-zent awoy a thousan’ mile, Shlood never meet her eyes, to smile An’ play agen; till she in slliame Shood die, an’ leave a tarnisled niame: A zad varziaken liady! ” Let me be lost,” she cried, “the while I da but know var my poor chile;” An’ left the huome ov all her pride, To wander droo the wordle wide, 212

Page 213 view page image

THE LANDLADY’S DAUGHTER. Wi’ grief that vew but she ha tried; An’ lik’ 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 cheiik’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 liadyl WILLIAM BARNES. THE

LANDLADY’S DAUGHTER. THIREE student-comrades crossed over the Rhine; Together they stopped at a landlady’s sign. “I,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 fiuneral bier.” And(
when they passed to the chiamber back, There she lay, in her coffin black!

213 .0

Page 214 view page image

THE LANDLADY’S DAUGII’rIER. The first firom her face the shroud-veil took, And gazed upon her-a mournful look. “Ah! wert thou but living, thou lovely maid, I would love thee from this time,” hle said. The second covered the altered face, And turned him, weeping, from the place: Tllat thou should’st lie on the fi,ner(l f)ier, \Whlom I have loved this many a year.

” 214

Page 215 view page image

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 I love tlrough eternity!” JO~IANN LUDWIG UIL,AND. (German.) Translation of C. G. LzLAmD and J. W. PALMIER. FLORENCE VANE. I LOVED thee long and dearly, Florence Vane; My life’s bright dream and early Hathl come again; I renew, in my fond vision, My heart’s dear pain: My hopes, and thy derision, Florence Vane! The ruin, lone and hoary, The ruin old, Where thou didst hark my story, At even told: That spot, the hues Elysian Of sky and plain, I treasure in my vision, Florence Vane! 215

Page 216 view page image

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~‘A’ j#~~~~~~~~~~~~ I I I II t Zs k, .i I %a 9

Page 217 view page image

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 Withouit tL main. Would I had loved thee never, Florence Vane! But fairest, coldest wonder! 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, Florence Vane! The lilies of the valley By young graves weep; The daisies love to d(ally Where maidens sleep. May their bloom, in beauty vying, Never wane Where thine earthly part is lying, Florence Vane! PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE

217

Page 218 view page image

I: -,i MAKIN( PORT. ALu (av long till the west was red, Over and i uider te wite-flecke(d blue’ “Now lay her into tfe wlin,” he said; And( sonitl the ]lail)or (drew. ‘218 I/ 1

Page 219 view page image

MAKING PORT. And tacking west and tacking east, Spray-showers upward going, Herl 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 the sea; Low slants the summer sun. The harbor opens wide and wide, Draws up on either quarter; The Vineyard’s low hills backward slide; The keel finds smoother water. 219

Page 220 view page image

MAKING PORT. And tacking starboard, tacking port, Bows hissing, heeled to leeward, Through craft of many a size and sort, She trails the long bay seaward. And jibing once to wear about, The hurling wind drives at her; The loud sails flap and flutter out, The sheet-blocks rasp and clatter. A lumberman lies full abeam, The flow sets squarely toward her; We.ose our headway in the stream And drift broadside aboard her. A sudden flurry fore and aft, Shout, tramnple, strain, wind howling; A ponderous jar of craft on craft, A boom that threatens fouling; A jarring slide of hull on hull, HIer bowsprit sweeps our quarter. Clang go the sheets; the jib draws full; Once more we cleave the water. The anchor rattles from the bow, The jib comes wrapping downward; And quiet rides the dripping prow, Wave-lapped and pointing townward. 220

Page 221 view page image

LOVE. 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 chlarm of sea and land, And splendid sunset glow and grace, And. more, I’d give to hold her hand And look upon her face’ JAMEs T. MCKAY LOVE. HE
stood beside a cottage lone, And listened to a lute, One summer eve, when the breeze was gone, And the nightingale was mute. The moon was watching on the hill; The stream was staid, and the maples still, To hear a lover’s suit, That, half a vow, and half a prayer, Spoke less of hope than of despair, And rose into the calm, soft air, As sweet and low, As he had heard -O, woe! 0, woe I The flutes of angels, long ago! “By every hope that earthward clings, By faith that mounts on angel wings, 221 0

Page 222 view page image

LOVE. By dreams that make night-shadows bright, And truths that turn our day to night, By childhood’s smile, and manhood’s tear, By pleasure’s day, and sorrow’s year, By all the strains that fancy sings, And pangs that time so surely brings, For joy or grief, for hope or fear, For all hereafter as for here, In peace or strife, in storm or shlline, My soul is wedded unto thine!” And for its soft and sole reply, A murmnur, and a sweet, low sigh, But not a spoken word; And yet they made the waters start Into his eyes who heard, For they told of a most loving heart, In a voice like that of a bird; Of a heart that loved though it loved in vain, A grieving, and yet not a pain: A love that took an early root And had an early doom, Like trees that never grow to fruit, And early shed their bloom; Of vanished hopes and happy smiles, All lost for evermore, Like ships that sailed for sunny isles, But never came to shore! THOMAS KIBBLE

IIERVEY. 222

Page 223 view page image

O! SNAiCHiED AWAY IN BEAUTY’S BLOOM. O! SNATCHED away in beauty’s blooinm, On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; But on thy turf shall roses rear Their leaves, the earliest of the year, And the wild cypress wave in tender glooIm. 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 l as if her step disturbed the dead.

Awaty! we know that tears are vain, That Death nor heeds nor hears distress Will this unteach us to complain, Or make one mourner weep the less? And thou, who tell’st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. LORD BYRON. .’ 2.,

Page 224 view page image

OVER the river, on the hill, Lieth a village white and still; 224 THE TWO

VILLAGES.

Page 225 view page image

THE TWO VILLAGES. All around it the forest trees Whisper and shiver in the breeze; Over it sailing shadows go Of soaring hawk and screaming crow; And mountain grasses, low and sweet, Grow in the middle of everv 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 that hasten to and fro. In that village on the hill Never is sound of smithy or mill; The houses are thatched with grass 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 sighSilent, and idle, and low they lie. In that village under the hill, When the night is starry and still, Many a weary heart in prayer Looks to the other village there, 19

225 anal flowers;

Page 226 view page image

CHRISTMAS. And, weeping and sighing, wants to go Up to that home froni 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 you all.” RosE TERi’Y. CHRISTMAS. LIFT up 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 beautifuli and shining feet, And publish over sea and land The certain tidings glad and sweet. He comes! The sky is all on fire, We see the bannered pomp unfurled, Th’ advancing splendors rushing higher, To flood and overflow the world. ABRAHAM COLES 226

Page 227 view page image

A LITTLE WHILE the smiling and the weeping I shall be soon; the waking and the sleeping, the sowing and the reaping, I shall be soon. oe, rest, and homiie! eet hope! rd, tarry not, but come! Beyond the blooming and th I shall be soon; Beyond the shining and the Beyond the hoping and the I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home! Sweet hope! Lord, tarry not, but crnit Beyond the rising and the setting I shall be soon; Beyond the calming and the fietting, Beyond remembering and forgetting, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home! Sweet hope! Lord, tarry not, but come! 227

Beyond Beyond shading, dreading,

Page 228 view page image

A LITTLE WIHILI,E. the gathering and tlle strowinga I shall be soon; the ebbing and the flowing, the coming and the going, I shlall be soon. e, rest, and home! eet hope! d, tarry not, but come! Beyond the parting and the meeting I shall be soon; Beyond the farewell and the greeting, Beyond this pulse’s fever-beating, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home! Sweet hope! Lord, tarry not, but come! Beyond the frost-cliain and the fever 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, but come! Ho1A0RTIUS BONA 1t 228 Beyond Beyond

Page 229 view page image

__ \j ~.jL\ TOO LATE I STAYED. Too late I stayed forgive the crime; Unheeded flew the hours: How noiseless falls the foot of Time That only treads on flowers! And who, with clear account, remarks The ebbings of his glass, 229

Page 230 view page image

IMONTROSE TO HIS MISTRESS. When all its sands are diamond sparks, That dazzle as they pass? All! who to sober measurement Time’s happy swiftness brings, When birds of paradise have lent Their plumage to his wings?

ROBERT WILLIAM SPENCER iMONTROSE TO HIS MISTRESS. AlY dear and only love, I pray That little world of thee Be governed by no other sway But purest monarchy; For if confusion have a part, Which virtuous souls abhor, I’ll call a synod in my heart, And never love thee more. As Alexander I will reign, And I will reign alone; My thoughts did evermore disdain A rival on my throne. He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the touch, To gain or lose it all. 230 4

Page 231 view page image

MONTROSE TO HIS MISTRESS. But I will reign and govern still, And always give the law, And have each subject at my will, And all to stand in awe; But’gainst my batteries if I find Thou storm or vex me sore, As if thou set me as a blind, I’ll never love thee more. And in the empire of thy heart, Where I should solely be, If others do pretend a part, Or dare to share with me; Or committees if thou erect, Or go on such a score, I’ll smiling mock at thy neglect, And never love thee more. But if no faithless action stain Thy love and constant word, I’ll make thee famous by my pen, And glorious by my sword; I’ll serve thee in such noble ways As ne’er was known before; I’ll deck and crown thy head with bays, And love thee more and more. JAMES GRAHANFME, MARQUIS OF MONTROSP, 231

Page 232 view page image

THE POET’S BRIDAL-DAY SONG. 0, MY love’s like the steadfast sun, Or streams that deepen as they run; Nor hoary hairs, nor forty years, Nor moments between sighs and tears, Nor nights of thought, nor days of pain Nor dreams of glory dreamed ill 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 wvife, firom 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 tile inoon Set on the sea an hour too soon; Or lingered’mid the falling dew, When looks were fond and words were few. Though I see smiling at thy feet, Five sons and ae fair daughter sweet, And time and care and birthtime woes Have dimmed thine eye and touched thy rose, 232

Page 233 view page image

THE POET’S BRIDAL-DAY SONG. To thee, and thoughts of thee, belong Whate’er charms me in tale or song. When words descend like dews, unsougllt, With gleams of deep, enthusiast thought, And Fancy in her heaven flies free, They come, my love, they come from thee. 0, 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 thlee, The golden fruit of Fortune’s tree; And sweeter still to choose and twine A garland for that brow of thlline, A song-wreathl which may grace my Jeaii, While rivers flow, and woods grow glreen. At times there come, as come there ouglht, Grave moments of sedater thought, When Fortune friowns, nor lends our night One gleam of her inconstant light; And Hope, that decks the peasant’s bowel, Shines like a rainbow through the shlower.

O 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 canll speak.

I think this wedded wife of mine, The best of all that’s not divine. ALLAN

CUNNINGIIAM 233

Page 234 view page image

FAREWELL TO NANCY. AE fond kiss - and then we sever! Ae fareweel - alas, forever! Deep in heart-wrunr 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. I’ll ne’er blame my partial fancy; Naething could resist my Nancy: But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love forever. Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met-or never parted, We had ne’er been brokenhearted. Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!

Thine be ilka joy and treasure, Peace, einjoyment, love, and pleasure! Ae fond kiss-and then we sever! Ae fareweel -alas, forever! Deep in heart-wiring tears I’ll pledge thee; Warring siglhs and groans I’ll wage thee. ROBErT BURNS. 234

Page 235 view page image

THE MAURI)ERED TRAVELLER,. WVHIEN spring, to woods and wastes around, Brought bloom and joy ag(ain, The murdered traveller’s bones were founld, Far down a narrow glen. 235
l~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Page 236 view page image

TIlE 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 diiu. They little knew, who loved himn so, The fearful death hlie 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. 236

Page 237 view page image

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 fearfiul death he died, Far down that narrow glen. WVILLIAM CULLEN

BItYAN’, MADRIGAL. As I saw fair Chloris walk alone, The feathered rain came softly down, As Jove descending firom his tower To court her in a silver shower. The wanton snow flew to her breast, As little birds into their nest; But, overcome with whiteness there, For grief dissolved into a tear; Thence falling on her garment’s heili. To deck her, froze into a gem. ANONYMoUs 237 .0

Page 238 view page image

THE MOTTO. SOMEBODY sent me a dear little note, The paper was Moinier’s, the writing was fair; Shall I here tell you what somebody wrote? No, - let the Muse keep the secret from air, But this was the motto the seal had to show, This, -” C’est le cceur qui fait valoir les mots.” Somebody walked with me, light was her tread Over the beautifuil sunshiny wold; Shall I here tell you what somebody said? The sunlight has faded-the words have grown coldDo you believe in the motto or no, C’est, -” C’est le coeur qui fait valoir les mots.” Somebody sang me a sweet little song, Full of all tender, unspeakable things, Shall I repeat them? no, ever so long They have flown off on the swiftest of wings, And the nest they deserted is white with the snow; Ah! “C’est le cceur 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 cceur qui fait valoir les mots.” JOHN R. THOMPsON. 288

Page 239 view page image

L(OVE. 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 scenc, Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there-my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve! She leaned against the armed man, The statue of the armed knight; She stood and listened to my lay, Amid the lingering light. Few soTrrows hath she of her own, My hope, my joy, my Genevieve! She loves me best whene’er I sing The songs that make her grieve. 239

Page 240 view page image

LOVE. I played a soft and doleful air; I sang an old and moving story: An old, rude song, that suited well That ruin wild and hoary. She listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace For well she knew I could not choose But gaze upon her face. I told her of the knilght 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 hlie pined-and ah! The deep, the low, the pleading tone With which I sang another’s love, Interpreted my own. She listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes, and modest grace: And she forgave me that I gazed Too fondly on her face. But when I told the cruel scorn That crazed that bold and lovely knight, And that he crossed the mountain-woods, Nor rested day nor night; 240

Page 241 view page image

LOVE. That sometimes from the savage den, And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once In green and sunny glade, There came, and looked him in the face, An angel beautiful and bright; And that he knew it was a fiend, This miserable Knight! And that, unknowing what hlie did, He leaped amid a murderous band, And saved from outrage, worse than death, The Lady of the Land; And how she wept, and clasped his knees; And how she tended him in vain, And ever strove to expiate The scorn that crazed his brain; And that she nursed him in a cave; And how his madness went away, When on the yellow forest-leaves A dying man he lay. His dying words -but when I reached That tenderest strain of all the ditty, My faltering voice and pausing ha.rp Disturbed her soul with pity. P241

Page 242 view page image

LOVE. All impulses of soul and sense had thrilled 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 long! She wept with pity and delight, She blushed with love, and virgin sllamne; And like the murmur of a dream, I heard her breathe my name. Her bosom heaved; she stept aside, As conscious of my look she stept; Then suddenly, with timorous eye, She fled to me and wept. Slie half inclosed me with her arms; Shle pressed me with a meek embrace; And bending back her head, looked up, And gazed upon my face. ‘Twas partly love, and partly fear, And partly’twas a bashful art, That I might rathler feel, than see, The swelling of her heart. 242

Page 243 view page image

LADY ANN BOTHWELL’S LAMENT. I calmed her fears, and she was calm, Aid told her love with virgin pride; And so I won my Genevieve, My bright and beauteous bride. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE LADY ANN BOTHVELL’S LAMENT.

BALOW, my babe, ly stil and sleipe! It grieves me sair to see thee weipe; If thou’st be silent, I’se be glad; Thy maining maks my heart ful sad.

Balow, my boy, thy mither’s joy, Thy father breides me great annoy. Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleive! It grieves me sair to see thee wepe. When he began to court my luve, And with his sugred words to muve, His faynings fals, and flattering cheire, To me that time did not appeire; But now I see, most cruell hee Cares neither for my babe nor mee. Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe! It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 24.? .0

Page 244 view page image

LADY ANN BOTHWELL’S LAMENT. Ly stil, my darlinge, sleipe awhile I And when thou wakest sweitly smile; But smile not, as thy father did, To cozen maids; nay, God forbid! But yette I feire, thou wilt gae neire Thy fatheris hart and face to beire. Balow, my babe, ly stil and sletpe! It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 1 canna chuse, but ever will Be luving to thy father stil: Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde, My luve with him maun stil abyde: In weil or wae, whair-eir hlie gae, Mine hart can neir depart him frae. Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleive! It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. But doe not, doe not, prettie mine, To faynings fals thine hart incline: Be loyal to thy luver trew, And nevir change hir for a new; If gude or faire, of hir have care, For women’s banning’s wonderous sair.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe! It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

Bairne, sin thy cruel father’s gane, Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine; My babe and I’ll together live; He’ll comfort me when cares doe grieve: 244

Page 245 view page image

MY CHILD. My babe and I right saft will ly, And quite forget man’s cruelty. Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe! It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth That ever kist a woman’s mouth! I wish all maids be warned by mee, Nevir to trust man’s curtesy; For if we doe but chance to bow, They’ll use us then they care not how. Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe! It arieves me sair to see thee weipe. ANON YMO US. MY CHILD. I CANNOT make him dead! His fair sunshiny head Is ever bounding round my study chair; Yet, when my eyes, now dim With tears, I turn to him, The vision vanishes-he is not there! I 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! 245

Page 246 view page image

MY CHILD. I thread the crowded street; A satchelled lad I meet, With the same beaming eyes and colored hair; And, as he’s running by, Follow him with my eye, Scarcely believing that-he is not there I 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 I cannot make him dead! When passing by the bed So long watched over with parental My spirit and my eye Seek him inquiringly, Before the thought comes that-he When, at the cool, gray break Of day, from sleep I wake, With my first breathing of the morning My soul goes up, with joy, To Him who gave my boy; Then comes the sad thought that-he When at the day’s calm close, Before we seek repose, I’m with his mother, offering up our prayer, 246 is not there! is not there I

Page 247 view page image

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 lie? 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;-lhe 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!” 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! JOHN PEIEPONT, 247

Page 248 view page image

THINK OF ME. Go where the water glideth gently ever, Glideth through meadows that the greenest be; Go, listen to our own beloved river, And think of me. Wander in forests, where the small flower layeth Its fairy gem beneath the giant tree; List to the dim brook, pining as it playeth, And think of me. 248

Page 249 view page image

COME, LET US KISSE AND PARTE! And when 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 dreanming, And treadeth with white feet the lulled sea, Go, silent as a star, beneath her beaming, And think of me. JOIIN HAMILTON I”EYN()I$)S. COME, LET US

KISSE AND PARTE! SINCE there’s no helpe -come, let us kiss and parte! Nay, I have done -you get no more of me; And I am glad -yea, glad with all my 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 seene in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retaine. Now -at the last gaspe of Love’s latest breath When, his pulse failing, Passion speechlesse liesWhen Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And Innocence is closing up his eyesNow! if thou would’st-when all have given him over From death to life thou might’st him yet recover! MICHAEL DRAYTON. 249

Page 250 view page image

THE FAIREST THING IN MORTAL EYES. To make my lady’s obsequies, My love a minster wrought; And, in the chantry, service there Was sung by doleful thought. The tapers were of burning sighs, That light and odor gave; And sorrows, painted o’er with tears, Enlumined her grave; And round about, in quaintest guise, Was carved: “Within this tomb there lies The fairest thing in mortal eyes.” Above her lieth spread a tomb, Of gold and sapphires blue: The gold doth show her blessedness, The sapphires mark her true; For blessedness and truth in her Were livelily portrayed, When gracious God with both His hands Her goodly substance made. He framed her in such wondrous wise, She was, to speak without disguise, The fairest thing in mortal eyes. 250

Page 251 view page image

A DEATH-BED. No more, no more! my heart doth faint When I the life recall Of her who lived so free from taint, So virtuous 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 CARY. 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 ALDRICH. 251 0

Page 252 view page image

FAREWELL! BUT WHENEVER YOU WELCOME THE HOUR. FAREWELL! but wheiiever you welcome the hour That awakens the nighlt-song of mirth in your bower, Then think of the fi’iend who once welcomed it too, And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you. His griefs may return-not a hope may remain Of the few that have brightened his pathway of pain; But he ne’er will forget the short vision that threw Its 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 gloomy or bright, My soul, happy friends! shall be with you that nightShall 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 destroyWhich come in the night-time of sorrow and care, And bring back the features that joy used to wear. Long, long, be my heart with such memories filled! Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled You may break, you may ruin, the vase if you wil], But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. THOMAS MOORE.. 252

Page 253 view page image

~jw$j; ~~~ “~ JENNY IMSSED MR JENNY kissed me when we met, Jumping fiom the chair she sat in; Time, you thief, who love to get Sweets into your list, put that in! Say I’m weary, say I’m sad; Say that health and wealth have missed me; Say I’m growing dull, but add, Jenny kissed me!

LEIGhI HUNT. 253 (r

Page 254 view page image

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! Pretty joy!

Sweet joy but two days old. Sweet joy I call thee, Thou dost smile, I sing the while, Sweet joy befall thee! WILI,LIAMI BLAKE 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 254 .0

Page 255 view page image

CHANGES. O! to call back the days that are not! My eyes were blinded, your words were few. Do you know the truth now, up in Heaven, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true? I 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 MULOC}H

CHANGES. WHOM first we love, you know, we seldom wed. Time rules us all.

And Life, indeed, is not The thing we planned it out ere hope was dead.

And then, we women cannot choose our lot. Much must be borne which it is hard to bear; Much given away which it were sweet to keep. God help us all! who need, indeed, His care. And yet, I know the Shepherd loves his sheep. 255 0

Page 256 view page image

CHANGES. My little boy begins to babble now Upon my knee his earliest infant prayer. He has his father’s eager eyes, I know; And, they say, too, his mothel’s sunny hair. But when he sleeps and smiles upon my knee, And I can feel his light breath come and go, I think of one (Heaven help and pity me!) Who loved me, and whom I loved, long ago: ‘Who might have been… ah what, I dare not think l We are all changed. God judges for us best. God help us do our duty, and not shrink, And trust in Heaven humbly for the rest! But blame us women not, if some appear Too cold at times; and some too gay and light. Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are hard to bear. Who knows the past? and who can judge us right? Ah! were we judged by what we might have been, And not by what we are-too apt to fall! My little child-lihe sleeps and smiles between These thoughts and me. In heaven we shall know all. ROBERT BULWER LYTTON. 256

Page 257 view page image

A HEIALTH. I FILL this cup to one made up of loveliness alone: A woman -of her genrtle sex The seeming paragon; To whom the better elements Ajid 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 firom her lips each flows As one may see the burdened bee Forth issue from the rose. Affections are as thoughts to her, The measures of her hours; Her feelings have the fragrancy, The freshness of young,, flowers; And lovely passions, changing oft, So fill her, she appears The image of themselves by turns, The idol of past years.

257

Page 258 view page image

ABSENCE. On her bright face one glance 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 her, So verv much endears, When death is nigh my latest sigh Will not be life’s, but hers. I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone: A woman-of her gentle sex The seeming paragon. Her health! and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame, That life might be all poetry, And weariness a name. EDWARtD COATE PINKNEY.

ABSENCE. WHAT stiail 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 Between this time and that sweet time of grace? Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense, Weary with longing? Shall I flee away Into past days, and with some fond pretence Cheat myself to forget the present day? 258 0.

Page 259 view page image

ABSENCE. Shiall love for thee lay on my soul the sin Of casting from me God’s great girt of time? Shlall I, these mists of memory locked withlin, Leave and forget life’s purposes sublime? 0! how, or by what means, may I contrive To bring the hour that brings thee back more near? How may I teach my drooping hope to live Until that blessed time, and thou art here?

I’ll tell thee for thy sake I will lay hold Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee, In 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 highl and holy strains; For thy dear sake I will walk patiently Through these long hours, nor 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 good than I hlave won since yet I live. So may this doomed time build up in me A thousand graces, whichl shall thus be thine! So may my love and longing hlallowed be, And thy dear thought an influence divine! FIZANCF.S KEMBLE

BUTLER. 2.59

Page 260 view page image

DOLLY SULLIVAN. “0! A WEDDING ring’s pretty to wear, And a bride of all women is fair, But then, 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 thc May, But to-morrow, look out! they’ll be all flown away!” Old Dolly Sullivan shook her gray head Lovers werc now the last thing she need dread. 260 I I I I Zd”’:~ t’”

Page 261 view page image

iuLT,Y SULLIVAN. But you never can tell Who has once been a belle; “Sweethearts! I’ve had’em; I know’em’.” she said. “Just as long as your company’s new, There is no one that’s equal to you; You then Can have choice of the men; ‘Tis the black eyes to-day, and to-morrow the blte. I had once a brocade For my marriage-gown made; On the shelf of the store-room my wedding-cake laid; Never that cake on the table was set.

Here I am, Dorothy Sullivan yet! Let it go! let it go! I am glad it was so; Hardly earned lessons you’re slow to forget. “Could I keep all to-day that I know With the face that I had long ago, Ah, then, I would pay back the men! They should get a small part of tne debt that I own! For’tis little care they, Spite the fine things they say, How a woman’s heart aches if thev hlave their own way. Promises! little they keep men in awe!

Trust’em! I’d sooner trust snow in a thaw They are easy to make, And more easy to break; Keeping’em’s something that never I saw I 261

Page 262 view page image

DOLLY SULLIVAN. “When you come to your own wedd Just to find you’re a mraid left forlc Ah, then, Where’s your faith in the men, When your wedding-gown’s on and You must take off that gown, And sit quietly down, Cast aside, thrown away, to be talk Old Dolly Sullivan shook her grayv “Children once burnt of the fire ae Let your love-stories be, When you’re talking to me; Sweethearts! I’ve had’em I I know ‘emn! ” she said. MARIAN

DOUGLASS I I 262 your bridegroom is gone? 7.,1, I

Page 263 view page image

ADIEU. LET time and chance combine, combine, Let time and chance combine; The faiirest 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. 263

Page 264 view page image

WHEN YOUR BEAUTY APPEARS. Harid 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 CARLYLE. WHEN YOUR BEAUT’Y APPEARS. WHEN your beauty appear, In its graces and airs, All bright as an angel new-dropt from the skies, At distance I gaze, and am awed by lmy tears 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: ‘ Anlg tlhus (might I gratify both) I would do - Still an angel appear to each lover beside, liut still be a woman for you.” THOMAS PARNELL. 264 - 0

Page 265 view page image

TO THE UNSATlSFIED. 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 immortal crown.

26.5

Page 266 view page image

TO THE UNSATISFIED. Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely, Every day a rich reward will give; Thou wilt find by hearty striving only, And truly loving, thou canst truly live. Dost thou revel in the rosy morning, When all nature hails the lord of light, And his smile, the mountain-tops adorning, Rol)es yon fragrant fields in radiance bright? Other hands may grasp the field and forest, Proud proprietors in pomp may shine; But with fervent love if thou adorest, Thou art wealthier-all the world is thine!

Yet if through earth’s wide domains thou rovest, Sighing that they are not thine alone, Not those fair fields, but thyself thou lovest, And their beauty, and thy wealth, are gone. Nature wears the color of the spirit; Sweetly to her worshipper she sings; All the glow, the grace she doth inherit, Round her trusting child she fondly flings. HARRIET WINSLOW. 266

Page 267 view page image

DIRGE IN CYMBELINE. To fair Fidele’s grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing Spring. No wailing ghost shall dare appear, To vex with shrieks this quiet grove But shepherd lads assemble here, And melting virgins own their love. No withered witch shall here be seen, No goblins lead their nightly crew; The female fays shall haunt the green, And dress thy grave with pearly dew. The redbreast oft, at evening hours Shall kindly lend his little aid With hoary moss, and gathered flowers, To deck the ground where thou art laid. When howling winds and beating rain In tempests-shake the sylvan cell, Or midst the chase, on every plain, The tender thought on thee shall dwell, 267

Page 268 view page image

THE DIRGE OF IMOGEN. Each lonely scene shall thee restore, For thee the tear be duly shed: Beloved till Life can charm no more, And mourned t:Ill Pitv’s self be dead. WILLIAM COLLINS. THE DIRGE OF IMOGEN,. FEAR no more the heat o’ the sun, Nor the furious Winter’s rages; Thlou 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 fiown 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 seeptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning-flash, Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Fear not slander, censure rash; Thou hast finished joy and moan: 268

Page 269 view page image

YORKI AND LANCASTER. All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust. No exorciser harm thee! Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

Ghost unlaid forbear thee! Nothing ill come near thee! Quiet consummation have, And renowned be thy grave! SHAKSPEARK YORK AND LANCASTERl 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 thiou mayst deign, With envy pale’twill lose its dye, And Yorkish turn again. ANONYMOUS 269 .0

Page 270 view page image

AT THE CHURCH GATE. ALTHOUGH I enter not, Yet round about the spot Ofttimes I hover; And near the sacred gate, 270

Page 271 view page image

AT THE CHURCH GATE. With longing eyes I wait, Expectant of her. The minster bell tolls out Above the city’s rout, And noise and humming.

They’ve hushed the minster bell: The organ’gins to swell: She’s coming, she’s coming! My lady comes at last, Timid, and stepping fast, And hastening hither, With modest eyes downcast; She comes-she’s here, she’s pastl 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, Lingering a minute, Like outcast spirits, who wait, And see, through Heaven’s gate, Angels within it. WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY

271

Page 272 view page image

ELEGY. SLEEP on, my love, in thy cold bed, Never to be disquieted! My last good night! Thou wilt not wake Till I thy fate shall overtake, Till age, or grief, or sickness, must Marry my body to that dust It so much loves, and 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 to)wards thee; At night when I betake to rest, Next morn I rise nearer my west Of life, almost by eight houres saile, Than when sleep breathed his drowsie gale. Thus from the sun my bottom steares, And my dayes compass downward bears; Nor labor I to stemme the tide Through which to thee I swiftly glid(le. 272

Page 273 view page image

TO CELIA. ‘Tis true, with shame and grief I yield, Thou, like the vanne, first took’st the field, And gotten hast the victory, In thus adventuring to die Before me, whose more years might crave A just precedence in the grave. But hark! 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 Kma 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 would not change for thine. 273 0*

Page 274 view page image

LIKE A POET IN THE SPLENDOR. I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath, Not so much honoring thee, As giving it a hope that there It could not withered be.

But thou thereon did’st only breathe, Andi sent’st it back to me; Since when, it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee. Translation of BEN JONSON. LrKE 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 your returning Is the only time I know. ALICE CARY. 274 PHILOSTRATUS. (Greek.) 0

Page 275 view page image

THE LAWLANDS O’ HOLLAND. THE love that I hae chosen, I’ll therewith be content; The saut sea sall be frozen Before that I repent. Repent it sall 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 hamne. But the weary wind began to rise, The sea began to rout, And my love and his bonny ship Turned withershins about’ There sall nae mantle cross my back, No kaim gae in my hair, Neither sall coal nor candle-light Shine in my bower mair; Nor sall I choose anithlier love Until the day I dee, Sin’ the Lawlands o’

Holland Hae twinned my love and me. “Noo haud your tongue, my daughter: Be still, and bide content; 275

Page 276 view page image

THE FLOWER OF BEAUTY. There’s ither lads in Galloway: Ye needna sair lament.” O there is nane in Galloway, There’s nane at a’ for me! I never lo’ed a lad but ane, And he’s drowned in the sea. ANONYMOUS. THE FLOWER OF

BEAUTY. SWEET in her green dell the flower of beauty slumbers, Lulled by the faint breezes sighing through her hair; Sleeps she, and hears not the melancholy numbers Breathed to my sad lute amid the lonely air. Down fiom the high cliffs the rivulet is teeming, To wind round the willow banks that lure him from above: O that, in tears, from my rocky prison streaming, I, too, could glide to the bower of my love! Ah! where the woodbines, with sleepy arms, have wound her, Opes she her eyelids at the dream of my lay, Listening, like the dove, while the fountains echo round her, To her lost mate’s call in the forests far away! Come, then, my bird!

for the peace thou ever bearest, Still heaven’s messenger of comfort to me! Come! this fond bosom, my faithfullest, my fairest, Bleeds with its death-wound -but deeper yet for thee. GEORGE DARLEY 276

Page 277 view page image

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 seveir!” 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 fariner, 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 hler. 277

Page 278 view page image

THE WELCOMIE. O she’ll whisper you - ” Love, as unclilangeably beaminlg; And trust, when in secret, most tunefully streaming; ” Till the starlight of Heaven above us shall quiver, As our souls flow in one down Eternity’s river. ?..\ =v.% -e - IV. So come in tlle evening, or COiiiihe Come when you’re looked for, or 2-i in the morning,; come without warning;

Page 279 view page image

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 nmy 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!” 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; Thev broke it all apart, And none would know it then. Poor little bird in the grass! Poor little trembling song! Beside you both I pass; And the way, the way is long. Poor little wren so brown, Twittering over her loss!

Poor little heart cast down, Thine is the greater cross! SAMUEL W.

DUFFIELD. 0 279 -4

Page 280 view page image

THE CHESS-BOARD. My little love, do you remember, Ere we were grown so sadly wiser Those evenings in the bleak December, Curtained warm 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.

iFull many a move, since then, have wp ‘Mid life’s perplexing checkers made, And many a game with Fortune played: 280

Page 281 view page image

THE ROYAL GUEST. What is it we have won? This, this at least - if this alone: That never, never, nevermore, As in those old still nights of yore, (Ere we were grown so sadly wise,) Can you and I shut out the skies, Shut out the world, and wintry weather, And eyes exchanging warmth with eyes, Play chess, as then we played together! ROBERT BULWER LYTTONx 4 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; ‘hlou wing’st it oft to realms beyond my reach. If other guests should come, I’d deck my hair, And choose my newest garment from the shelf; When thou art bidden, I would clothe my heart With holiest purpose, as for God himself.

For them I while the hours with tale or song, Or web of fancy, fringed with careless rhyme; But how to find a fitting lay for thee, Who hast the harmonies of every time? 281

Page 282 view page image

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 thiue. Thou art to me most like a royal guest, Whose travels bring him to some lowly roof Where simple rustics spread their festal fare And, blushing, own it is not good enough. Bethink thee then, whene’er thou com’st to me From high emprise and noble toil to rest, My thoughts are weak and trivial, matched with thine; But the poor mansion offers thee its best. JULIA WAVARD HowE. .0 ALL’S WELL. 6 ALL’S

WELT.! “- How the musical sound Smites, surge-like, tile 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: “All’s Well!” 282

Page 283 view page image

ALL’S WELL. All’s JWell!” Tlhrough the lengthening lines Each sentry re-echoes the word, And faintly yon forest of pines With dreamy responses is stirred: On the marge of the nebulous night, A wavy, reiterate sigh, It ripples, -then vanishes quite In the infinite deeps of the sky: “All’s Well! “All’s Well! “- In the warfare of life - Does my soul like a sentinel stand, Prepared to encounter the strife, With well burnished weapon in hand? While the senses securely repose, And doubt and temptation have room, Does the keen ear of conscience unclose? Does she listen, and catch throu(rlgh the gloom: “All’s Well?” All’s Well!” - Call I echo the word? Does faith with a sleepless control Bid the peaceful assurance be heard In the questionless depths of my soul? Thlen fear not, frail heart!

- when the scars Of the brave-foughten cornmbat are past, Clear voices that fall from the stars Will quiet lthee on to the last “All’s TVell!”

MARGARET J. PRESTON. 283

Page 284 view page image

p~j$~~jLtJ (I/ ‘); ici;;$J (;1~~\~ / I;{;;;~ j t~j ‘’ Th ,”ft ft ‘l.‘J,,’*: -.9., -. 7,l I I”A\, ~e -‘ I It ON A GIRDI,E. THAT which her slender waist confined Shall now my joyful temples bind; No monarch but would give his crown, His arms might do what this hath done. It was my Heaven’s extremest sphere, The pale which held that lovely deer: 284

Page 285 view page image

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 bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round! E,DMUND 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, our friends are few; 285 .0

Page 286 view page image

I ~~ I1 y - /t I _ -‘4~ ol~ l ,M c4t ~~~~~ I~~~~~~

Page 287 view page image

SHE IS A MAID OF ARTLESS GRACE. 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 WALLER 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 VICENTE. (Portuguese.) Uranslation of HEENRY

WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 287

Page 288 view page image

BEWARE I I KNOW a maiden fair to see: Take care! She can both false and friendly be: Beware! Beware! Trust her not; She is fooling thee! She has two eyes, so soft and brown: Take care! She gives a side-glance and looks down: Beware! Beware! Trust her not; She is fooling thee! And she has hair of a golden hue: Take care! And what she says it is not true: Beware!

Beware! Trust her not; She is fooling thee! She has a bosom as white as snow: Take care! She knows how much it is best to show: Beware! Beware!

Trust her not; She is foolicng thee! 288

Page 289 view page image

SONG. She gives thee a garland woven fair: Take care! It is a fool’s-cap for thee to wear: Beware! I Beware! Trust her not; She is fooling thee!

ANO.NYMOUS. (Germnian.) Iraislation of HENIRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SONG.

WHY so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can’t move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale? Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Prithee, why so mute? Will, when speaking well can’t win her, Saying nothing do’t? Pritlee, why so mute? Quit, quit, for shame! this will not move, This cannot take her; If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her: The Devil take her! SIR JOHN SUCKLING

289

Page 290 view page image

LEFT BEI[LND IT was the autumn of the yeai; The strawberry-leaves were red and sere October’s airs were fresh and chill; When, pausing on the windy hill, The hill that overlooks the sea, You talked confidingly to me: Me, whom your keen, artistic sight Has not yet learned to read ariglit, Since I have veiled my heart from you, And loved you better than you knew. You told me of your toilsome past: The tardy honors won at last, The trials borne, the conquests gained(, The longed-for boon of Fame attained; I knew that every victory But lifted you away from me, That every step of high emprise But left me lowlier in youz eyes I watched the distance as it grew, And loved you better than you knew. You did not see the bitter trace Of anguish sweep across my face; You did not hear my proud heart bat, Heavy and slow, beneath your feet; 290

Page 291 view page image

I.EFT 1 [EH IND. You thought of triumphs still uniwoin, Of glorious deeds as yet undone; And I, the while you talked to me, I watched the gulls float lonesomely, Till lost amid the hungry blue; And loved you better than you knew. You walk the sunny side of fate; The wise world smiles, and calls you great; The golden fruitage of success Drops at your feet in plenteousness; And you have blessings manifold: Renown and power, and friends and gold; They build a wall between us twain, WhVliclh may not be thrown down again. Alas! for I, the long years thllrough, Have loved you better than you knew. Your life’s proud aim, your art’s ligli truth, Have kept the promise of your youth; And vliile you won the crown, vliicli lowV

Breaks into bloom upon your l)row, My soul cried strongrly out to you Across the ocean’s yearning ibllue, While, unremembered and afar, I watched you, as I watch a star, Through darkness struggling into view; And loved you better than you knew. I used to dream, in all these years Of patient faith, and silent tears, 291

Page 292 view page image

‘TAKE, 0 TAKE, THOSE I,IPS 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.” FLOIRENCE PERCY. TAKE, 0 TAKE, THOSE

LIPS AWAY. TAKE, 0 take, those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn!

And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn I But my kisses bring again: Seals of love, though sealed in vaill. Hide, 0 hide, those hills of snow, Which thy frozen bosom bears, On whose tops the pinks that grow Are yet of those that April wears! But first set my poor heart free, Bound in those icy chains by tihee. SIIAKSPEARE, AND JOHIN

FLETCHElR. 292 .0

Page 293 view page image

THE OLI) MAID. WVaY sits she thus in solitude? Her heart Seems melting in her eyes’ delicious 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 birthiday! With a sigh Her soul hlath 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, Onice lightly sprang within her beaming track; 0, life was l)eautiful in those lost hours! And yet she does not wish to wander back. 293

Page 294 view page image

THE OLD MAID. No! she but loves in loneliness to think On pleasures past, though never more to be; Hope links her to the future-but the link That binds her to the past is Memory. From her lone path she never turns aside, Though passionate worshippers before her fall; Like some pure planet in her lonely pride, She seems to soar and beam above them all. Not that her heart is cold-emotions new, And fresh as flowers, are with her heartstrings knit, And sweetly mournful pleasures wander through Her virgin soul, and softly ruffle 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 blissfiul here Within that spirit-realm perpetuate. 294

Page 295 view page image

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. AMELTA BALL WELBY. SHE IS NOT F’AIR. SHE is not fair to outward view, As many maidens be: Her loveliness I never knew Until she smiled on me; 0 then, I saw her eye was bright - A well of love, a spring of lilght! But now her looks are coy and cold: To mine they ne’er reply; And yet I cease not to behold The love-light in her eye. Her very frowns are better far Than smiles of other maidens are. I-IAITLEY

Coi.Eltii1;. 295 4.

Page 296 view page image

SONG. DRINK ye to her that each loves best, And if you nurse a flame That’s told but to her mutual brcast, 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 hlope to share. 296

Page 297 view page image

THE L,AI)Y’S ” YES.” Yet far, far hence be jest or boast From hlallowed thoughts so dear; But drink to her that each loves most, As she would love to hear. THOMAS CAMPBELL. THE LADY’S “YES.” ” YES! ” I answered you last night; “No!” this morning(, Sir, I say. Colors seen by candle-liclght Will not look the same by day. When the viols played their best, Lamps above, and laughs belowLove me sounded like a jest, Fit for Yes or fit for No.

297

Page 298 view page image

THE LADY’S “YES.” Call me false or call me free Vow, whatever light may shline, 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 wooWooing light makes fickle troth Scorn of mie recoils on you: Learn to win a lady’s faith Nobly as the thing is high; 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 BAtRRETT BROWNING.

298 I,

Page 299 view page image

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 Fu’ safter than the down; And Luve wad winnow owre us his And sweetly I’d sleep, and soun Come here to me, thou lass o’ my I Come here and kneel wi’ me! 299 kind, kind wings,

Page 300 view page image

WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST. The 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 kindlie 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 hliolie psalmodie; And thou maun speak o’ me to thy God, And I will speak o’ thee. ALLAN CUNNINGIIAM. .0 WHERE SHALL

THE LOVER REST. WHERE shall thle lover rest, Whom the fates sever, From his true maiden’s breast Parted forever? Where, througlh 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; 300

Page 301 view page image

WIlERE SHALl. THE LOVER R,EST There thy rest shalt thou take, Parted forever, Never again to wake, Never, 0 never! WVliere shlall the traitor rest.I He the deceiver, Wlho could win maiden’s breast, Ruin and leave hler? In thlle lost battle, Borne downv by thlle flying, Whlere mingles war’s rattle With groans of the dying. Her wingc shall the eagle flap O’er the false-hearted; His wvarm blood the wolf shall lap, Ere life be parted.

Shlame and dishonor sit By his grave ever! Blessing, shall hallow it Never. O never! 6IR WALTEFR SCOTT. .301

Page 302 view page image

I YLY\\ t: - i 4 -. 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 thiat a creature to charm a man? Only listen! how charmingly she talks Of your dress and hers-of the Paris modeOf the coming ball-of the opera box Of jupons, and flounces, and fashions abroad. 302

Page 303 view page image

A MUSICAL BOX. Not a bonnet in church but she knows it well, And Fashion she worships with downcast eyes; A marchande de modes is her oracle, And Paris her earthly paradise. She’s perfect to whirl with in 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-fledged wits, And slim attaches and six-foot Guards. Her talk is of people, who’re nasty or nice, And she likes little bon-bon compliments; While she seasons their sweetness by way of spice, By some witless scandal she often invents. Is this the thing for a mother or wifbe? Could love ever grow on such barren rocks? Is this a companion to take for a wife? One might 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, Tro be bored with the only airs she plays. W. W. STOR Y. 303

Page 304 view page image

TIHE MAIDEN’S CHOICE GENTEEL in personage, Conduct and equipage; Noble by hleritage, Generous and free; Brave, not romantic; Learned, not pedantic; Frolic, not frantic: This must he be. Honor maintaining, Meanness disdaining, Still entertaining, Engag,ing and new; Neat, but not finical; Sagre, but not cynical; Never tyrannical, But ever true. HENRY FIEILDIN(;.

304

Page 305 view page image

THE WIDOW ANDL CHILD. HOME they brought her warrior dead; She nor swooned, nor uttered cry. All her maidens, watching, said “She must weep, or she will die!” Then they praised him, soft and low; Called him worthy to be loved: Truest friend and noblest foe! Yet she neither spake nor moved.

Stole a maiden from her place, ILghtly to the warrior stept, Took a face-cloth firom the face: Yet she neither moved nor wept. Rose a nurse of ninety years, Set his child upon hler knee. Like summer tempest came hler tears: “,Sweet my child, I live for thee!” ALFRED TENNYSON. 305

Page 306 view page image

MEETING AND PARTING. THE gray sea, and the long black land; And the yellow half-moon, large and low; 13 0C

Page 307 view page image

SHIE WVAS A PHANTOM OF DEI,IGit r. 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 ill the slushy sand. Then a mile of warm, sea-scented beacll; Three fields to cross, till a farm aplpears; A tap at the pane, the quick sharI) scratch And blue spirt of a lilghted mnatch; And a voice less loud, thlroughl its joys and fears, Than the two hearts, beating each to each! Round the cape, of a sudden, came the sea, And thle sun looked over thle mountain’s rimAn(l strai,ght was a path of g(old for him’l, And the need of a world of men for ie! ROBER’r BtOWNINO. SHE WVAS A PHlANTOMI OF DELIGHT. SHE was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight, A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment’s ornament: *307 0

Page 308 view page image

SHE WAS PHANTOM 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. [ 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 breatll A traveller between life and deatl; The reason firm, the temperate will Endurance, foresi,lght, strengthl, and A perfect woman, nobly planned, To wvarn, to comfort, and command And yet a spirit still, and briglit With something of an angel li,ght. As I IJ~, IA’% 11o I Rt I)S

WVORTtI. 308

Page 309 view page image

WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGE FHE[1 WE have been friends together, In sunshine and in shade, Since first beneath the chestnut trees In infancy 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 now? We have been sad together; We have wept, with bitter tears, O’er the grass-grown graves where slumnbered The hopes of early years; The voices which are silent there Would bid thee clear thv brow. We have been sad together: O! what shall part us now? CAROLI,INE ELIZABETH

NORTOiIN. 309

Page 310 view page image

TOMMY’S DEAD. You may give over ploughl, boys, You may take the gear to the stead All the sweat o’ your brow, boys, WVill never get beer and bread. The seed’s waste, I know, boys There’s not a blade will grow, boys; 810

Page 311 view page image

TOIMMIY’S DEAl). ‘Tis cropped out, I trow, boys; And Tommy’s dead. Send the colt to the fair, boys: He’s going blind, as I said; My old eyes can’t bear, boys, To see him in the shled. The cow’s dry and spare, boys; Shle’s neitller l]ere nor thllere, boys I doubt shle’s badly bred. Stop thle mill to-morn, boys; Tliere’ll be no more corn, boys, Neithler wlite nor red.

Tlhere’s no sign of grass, boys; You may sell the goat and the ass, boys Thle land’s not wlat it was, boys And thle beasts must be fed. You may turn Peg, away, boys; You may pay off old Ned. We’ve hlad a dull day, boys; And Tommy’s dead. Move my chlair on thle floor, boys: let me turn my lead; Shle’s standing tilere in thle (looI, l))vsYour sister Winifred!

Take hler away from me, boysYour sister Winifred! (Miove me round in my place, l)().vs: l,et me turn my liead;) Take lher away firom me, 1)()s 

8Sl

Page 312 view page image

TOMMY’S DEAD. As she lay on her death-bed: Tile 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. Whlerever I turn my head: Out of the bigt 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 righlt, boys. But I think it’s not in my hlead I’ve kept my precious sight, boys: The Lord be lhallowed! Outside and in The ground is cold to my tread The hills are wizen and thin, Tlle sky is shrivelled and shred The hedges down by the loan, I call count them bone by bone Tie leaves are open and spread. But I see the teeth of the land, And hlands like a dead man’s hland, And the eyes of a dead man’s hlead. There’s nothing but cinders aud sand( The rat and the mouse hlave fled, And the summer’s empty and cold; Over valley and wold, Wherever I turn mv hea(l, X12

Page 313 view page image

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; There’s something wrong i’ the cup, boys, There’s something ill wi’ the bread I don’t care to sup, boys And Tommy’s dead.

I’m not right, I doubt, boys, I’ve such a sleepy head; i;l 3

Page 314 view page image

LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW. I shall never more be stout, boys; You may carry me to bed. What are you about, boys? The prayers are all said, The fire’s raked out, boys; And Tommy’s dead. The stairs are too steep, boys, You may carry me to the hlead; The nighlt’s dark and deep, boys, Your mothier’s long in bed; ‘Tis time to go to sleep, boys; And Tommy’s dead.

I’m not used to kiss, boys; You may shake my hand instead. All things go amiss, boys; You may lay me wlere she is, boys. And I’ll rest my old head.

‘Tis a poor world, thllis, boys; And Tommy’s dead. SYDNEY DOBE I,L. LAMENT

OF THE BORDER WII)DOV MY love he built me a bonny bower, And clad it a’

wi’ lilye flour; A brawer bower ye ne’er did see Than my true love hle built for me. 314 41

Page 315 view page image

LAMIENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW V. There came a manl, by middle day; He spied his sport, and went away; And brought the king that very iLiglit, Who brake my bower, and slew my knight. He slew my knight, to me sae dear; He slew my knilght, and poined his gear; MIy 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, nilght and day; No living creature came that way. I took his body on my back, And whlliles 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, WVhen I laid the moul’ on his yellow hair’? 0 think na ye my heart was wae, When I turned about, away to gae? Nae living man I’ll love again, Since that my lovely knight is slain; Wi’ ae lock of his yellow hair I’ll chain my heart for evermair. Ain~YMo Us. 81.5

Page 316 view page image

4’ F, -

Page 317 view page image

ABOU BEN ADHEM. ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one ni,ghlt from a deep dream of peace, And saw within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily ill bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold: Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhlem bol(l, And to the Presence in the room lie said, “W hat 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 chleerly still; and said, “I pray tllee, thlen, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.” The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night It came again, with a great wakening liglt, And shlowed the names whom love of God hlad blessed; And lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest! L,EIGII HUNT. 317

Page 318 view page image

I I __________ \\IIlI!I’lJIIII’l\\\;;’,! I DAY, in melting purple dying! Blossomns, all around me sighiniig! Fragrance, from the lilies strayin,g! Zephyr, with my ringlets playing! Ye but waken my distress; I am sick of loneliness. 318 ,,,/~‘A,l~I;ji#j; SONG.

Page 319 view page image

SONG. Thou to whom I love to hearken, Come, ere night around me darken!

Though thy softness but deceive me, Say thllou’rt true, and I’ll believe thee; Veil, if ill, thy soul’s intent; Let me think it innocent. Save thy toiling, spare thy treasure: All I ask is friendship’s pleasure; Let the shhling ore lie darkling, Bring no gent in lustre sparkliiig,: Gifts and gold are naulght to me; 1 would only look on thee! Tell to thee the high-wrought feling, Ecstasy but in revealing; Paint to thee the deep sensation, Rapture in participation; Yet but torture, if comnprest In a lone, unfriended breast Absent still! Ah, come and bless me! Let these eyes again caress thee. Once, in caution, I could fly thee; Now I nothibig could deny thee. In a look if death there be, Come-and I will gaze on thee! MARIA BRooKS. 319

Page 320 view page image

A I)IRGE. “O DIG a grave, and dig it deep, Where I and my true-love may sleep I’ We’ll dig a grave, and dig it deep, JWVlere thou and thy true-love shall sleep! “And let it be five fathom low, Where winter winds may never blow! ” And it shall be five fathom low, Where winter winds shall never blow! “And let it be on yonder hill, Where grows the mountain 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! ” We’ll plant it round with holy briers, To fright away the fairy fires! “And set it round with celandine, And nodding heads of columbine!”

WVe’ll set it round with celandine, And nodding heads of columbine! 320

Page 321 view page image

A DIRGE. “And let the ruddock build his nest Just above my true-love’s breast!” The ruddoek 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 take, 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 thty true-love’s side, That thou may’st 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 thee, And pray to God in heaven for thee! Benedicite! WILLIAM

STANLEY RO3COL 321

Page 322 view page image

POLAR DAYS. As some poor piteous Lapp, who under firs Which bend and break with load of arctic snows, 4 Has crept and crouched to watch when crimson glows Begin, feels in his veins the thrilling stirs 322

Page 323 view page image

LOVE NOT ME. Of wariner life, e’en while his fear deters His trust; anrid when the orange turns to rose InX vain, and widening to the westward goes Tile ruddy beam and fades, heart-sick defers His hope, and shivers through one more long night Of sunless (lay; So watching, one by one, The faintest glimmers of the morn’s glay ligolt, Thle sleepless exiled heart waits for the brirlghtt Full day, and hopes till all its hours are done, That the next one will bring its love, its sun. H. I{. LOVE NOT ME. LOVE not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face, Nor for any outward part; No, nor for my constant heart: For those may fail, or turn to ill - So thou and I shlall sever. Keep therefore a true woman’s eye, An(i love me still, but know not why: So liast thou the same reason still To dote upon me ever. ANONYMOUS. 323 0

Page 324 view page image

LITTLE WORDS. How wise he is! He can talk in Greek t There isn’t a language he cannot speak. Thie 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 smnall, 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, Thoug(h he knows the Zodiac’s rounded height, With its Gemini, Scorpio, Leo, and all,Its satellites, planets, and nebulae small; 324

Page 325 view page image

LITTLE WORDS. And though in a flash he could fasten his eye on Thie Dipper, and Crown, and the Belt of Orion, Not once does he mention the wonders above, But just whispers softly, “Miy own! ” and “I love! “

Whenever they tease me -the girls and the boysWith ” 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 hid(le the joy that I really feel; For they’d laugh still more if they knew the truth, How meek a Professor can be, forsootih! Though well I know in the times to come Great thoughts shlall preside in our happy home, And to hold forever lhis 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 llYet the future is bright for, like song of birds, My soul is filled with his little words. MARY ELIZABETH DODGE. 325 0

Page 326 view page image

OVER TIIE RIVER. 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 own 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; We 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, MAly chlildhood’s idol is waiting for me. 326 .

Page 327 view page image

NOVE,R’IlE RIVtER.! For none return from those quiet shlores, Who cross with thle boatmina cold and l)ale. We hear the dip of the gol(len oars, And catch a gleam of the snowy sail; And lo! they have passed from our yearnilng ],oarts: They cross the stream and are gone for aye. We may not sunder the veil ap)art That bides from our vision thle 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 shlore, They watcll, and beckon, and wait for me. And I sit and think, when the sunset’s gold Is flushing river and lhill and shlore, I shlall one day stand by the water cold And list for the sound of tlhe boatman’s oar: I shall watch for a gleam of the flall)ing, sail, I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand, I shlall pass from sighlt 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, ‘Flie Angel of Death shall carry me. NANCY AMEIIA WOODBURY PIXiiS’r .327

Page 328 view page image

DANIEL GRAY. IF I shall ever win the home in heaven For whose sweet rest I humbly hope and pravy In the great company of the forigiven I shall be sure to find old Daniel Gray. I knew him well; in fact, few knew himn better; For my young eyes oft read for him the Word. And saw how meekly firom 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 amnong, 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 forIn, his face, his motions, His lioniesputn habit, and his silver hair, And hear the langruage of his trite devotions, Risin behind the strai(ght-backed kitchen chair. 328

Page 329 view page image

DANIEL GRAY. I can remember how the sentence sounded “Help us, 0 Lord, to prav and not to faint!” 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 transgressor and transgression 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 Chlristiaii duty Allowed indulgence in such foolisllness. 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 ClIarley, Thiey found fresh dew-drops sprinkled in his hair, And on his breast a rose-bud gathered early, And guessed, but did not know, who placed it there. 329

Page 330 view page image

THE THANKLESS LADY. Honest and faithful, constant in his calling, Strictly attendant cn the means of grace, Instant in prayer, and fearful most of falling, Old Daniel Gray was always ill his place. A practical old man, and yet a dreamer, He thought that in some strange, unlooked-for wiyv His mig(hty Friend in Heaven, the great Redeemer, Would honor him with wealth some golden day. This dream hle 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 hiln. So if I ever win the home in heaven For whose sweet rest I hlumbly hope and p In the great company of the forgiven I shall be sure to find old Daniel Gray. J. G. I-IOLLAND THE

THANKLESS LADY. IT is May, and the moon leans down all night Over a blossomy land, By her window sits thie ladv white, With her chin upon her hand. 330 0

Page 331 view page image

THE THANKLESS LADY. “0 sing, to me, dear nlightingcrale, The song of a year ago; I hlave hlad enough of longing and wail, Enougl,i of heart-break al(nd woe. C0 glimmer oil me, my apll)le-tree, Like thle birthplace of thle snow; Let odor and moonlilght and melody In one old harmony flow.”’

The dull odor swimns; the cold blossomns gleamn; And the bird will not be glad. The dead never speak when the living(r dreall, - They are too weak and sad. She listened and sate till nilght grew late, Bound by a weary spell; Then a face came in at the garden-gate, And a wondrous thing befel!. Uprose the joy as well as the love, Ill the song, in the scent, in thle show! The moon grew glad ill the sky above, The blossoms grew rosy below. May passed into June in tlie scent andt Tlhey filled the veins of night; But tlley lind no tlanks for the gIant bo For tlhe lady forgot them quite. GEoI:GI’. M, \IACI)ONALD ‘031

Page 332 view page image

WHEN STARS ARE IN THE QUIET SKIES. WHEN stars are in the quiet skies, Then most I pine for thee; Bend on me then thy tender eyes, As stars look on the sea. For thoughts, like waves that glide by night. Are stillest when they shine; 332

Page 333 view page image

AT LAST. line earthly love lies hushed in ligllt Beneath the heaven of tline. There is an hour when allgels keep Familiar watch o’er men, When coarser souls are wrapped in sleep; Sweet spirit, meet me then! There is an hour when holy drealms 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 BULWER LYTTON. AT LAST. 0, THE years I lost before I knew you, Love! 0, the hills I climbed and came not to you, Love! 333 .0

Page 334 view page image

AT LAST. Ah! who shall render unto us to make Us glad, The things which for and of each other’ We might have had? If you and I had sat and played togethe Love, Two speechless babies in the summer we Love, By one sweet brook which though it dri Ago, Still makes for me to-day a sweeter song Than all I know, If hand in hand throughll the mysterious Love, Of womanhood, we had first looked and Love, Had whispered to each other softly, ere It yet Was dawn, what now in noonday heat a We both forget, If all of this had given its completeness, Love, To every hour would it be added sweets Love? Could I know sooner whether it were we Or ill With thee? One wish could I more sure More swvift fulfil? 334 gateway, straighitway,

Page 335 view page image

DINNA ASK ME. All! vainly thus I sit and dream and ponder, Love, Losing the precious present while 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 me. But all lost things are in the angel’s keep)lig, Love; No past is dead for us, but only sleeping, Love; The years of Heaven will all earth’s little pain Make good, Together there we can begin again In i)abyhood. H.

H. DINNA ASK ME. 0O! DINNA ask me gill I lo’e ye Trothl, I daurna tell!

Dinna ask me gill I lo’e ye; Ask it o’ yoursel’. 335 0

Page 336 view page image

A SPINNING-WHEEL SONG. O0, dinna look sae sair at me, For weel ye ken me true; 0, gin ye look sae sair at me, I daurna look at you. When ye gang to yon braw braw town, And boinnier lassies see, 0, 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 0, I’in sure my heart wad break, Gin ye’d prove fause to me’ DUNLOP. + A SPINNING-WHEEL SONG. MELLT,OW the moonliglt to shine is beginning; Close by the window youing Eileen is spinning; Bent o’er the fire, her blind grandmother, sitting, Is croning, and moaning, and drowsily knitting. “Eileen achora, I hear some one tapping.” ‘Tis the ivy, dear mother, against the glass flapping.” Eileen, I surely hear somebody sighing.” “‘Tis the sound, mother dear, of the summer wind dying.” Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot’s stirring; 3 I’D’ 6

Page 337 view page image

A SPINNING-WVHEEL SONG. Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. ” What’s that noise that I hear at the window, I wonder?” ‘Tis the little birds chirping the holly-bush under.” “What makes you be shoving and moving your stool on, And singing all wrong that old song of’ The Coolun?’” There’s a form at the casement - the form of her true love; And he whispers, with face bent, “I’m waiting for your love. 337

Page 338 view page image

MY LOVE. Set up on the stool, through the lattice step lightly; WVe’ll rove in the grove while the mooni’s shining brightly.” Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot’s stirring; Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, T’ rills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. The maid shakes her head, on her lip lays her fingers, Steals up from her seat, longs to go - and yet lingers; A frightened glance turns to her drowsy grandmother, Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel with the other. Lazily, easily, swings now the wheel round; Slowly and lowly is heard now the reel’s sound. Noiseless and light to the lattice above her ThIe maid steps-then leaps to the arms of her lover. Slower-and slower-and slower the wheel swingcs; Lower-and lower-and lower the reel rings. Ere the reel and the wheel stop their ringing and moving, Through the grove the young lovers by moonlight are roving JOHN FRANCIS VARL,LER. MY 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. 338 .0

Page 339 view page image

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 doeth little kindnesses, Which most leave undone, or despise, For naught that sets one heart at ease, And giveth 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.

Blessing she is: God made her so: And deeds of week-day holiness 339

Page 340 view page image

MY 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 thereunto Her life doth rightly harmonize; Feeling or thought 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 childish vears Hath never lost its fresh perfume, Though knowing 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 peacefuil might, Which, by high tower and lowly mill, Goes wandering at its own will, And yet doth ever flow aright. x. And, on its fuill, 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 LOWELL .340

Page 341 view page image

THE MIGHT OF ONE FAIR FACE. L’INCONNUE. Is thy name Mary, maiden fair?

Such should, methinks, its music be; The sweetest name that mortals bear Were best befitting thee; And she, to whom it once was given, Was half of earth and half of heaven. I hear thy voice, I see thy smile, I look upon thy folded hair; Ah! while we dream not thy beguile, Our hearts are in the snare; And she who chains a wild bird’s wing Must start not if her captive sing. So, lady, take the leaf that falls, To all but thee unseen, unknown; When evening shades thy silent walls, Then read it all alone; In stillness read, in darkness seal, Forget, despise, but not reveal! OLIVER WENDELL

HOLMES. THE MIGHT OF ONE FAIR FACE. THE might of one fair face sublimes my love, For it hath weaned my heart from low desires; Nor death I need, nor purgatorial fires: Thy beauty, antepast of joys above, 3.t1 8

Page 342 view page image

TO PERILLA. Instructs me in the bliss that saints appr For 0, how good, how beautiful, must be The God that made so good a thing as t So fair an image of the heavenly Dove Forgive me if I cannot turn away From those sweet eyes that are my earth For they are guiding stars, benignly give To tempt my footsteps to the upward wa And if I dwell too fondly in thy sight, I live and love in God’s peculiar light. MICHAEL ANGE,LO.

(Italian.) Trmislation 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 ‘Fhlat 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 iimplore The gods’ protection, but the night before.

Follow me, weeping, to my turf; and there Let fall a primrose, and with it a tear. 342 .0

Page 343 view page image

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 wert dying, From eyes unused to weep; And long where thou art lying Will tears the cold turf steep. When hearts whose truth was proven, Like thine, are laid in earth, There should a wreath be woven To tell the world their worth; And I, who woke each morrow To clasp thy hand in mine, Who shared thy joy and sorrow, Whose weal and woe were thine It should be mine to braid it Around thy faded brow; 343 .

Page 344 view page image

4 11~ I -1 %i %I “I I v I I I -1 I ) -4 ,,j x N I

Page 345 view page image

ARAB 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-GREENE HALLECK. ARAB

LOVE. MY faint spirit was 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 flights Bore thee far from me; My heart-for my weak feet were weary soon Did companion thee. Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm Or the death they bear, The heart which tender thought cl With the wings of care; In the battle, in the darkness, in 1

Shall mine cling to thee; Nor claim one smile for all the co It may bring to thee. PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. I 345 y0

Page 346 view page image

~ IIOW’S MY BOY? i Ho, sailor of tie sea! How’s my boy-my boy?” “What’s your boy’s name, good wife, And in what good shli) sailed lie?” “MIy boy John, He that wvent to sea; What care I for the ship, sailor? IMy boy’s nmy boy to me. 346 Wy’  -

Page 347 view page image

HOW’S MY BOY? “You come back from sea, And not know my John? I might as well have asked Yonder down in the town; There’s not an ass in all the 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 was 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 afford her!

I say, how’s my John?” “Every man on board went dowel, Every man aboard her.” vl 347 some landsman, I

Page 348 view page image

SHE’S GANE TO DWALL IN HEAVEN. “How’s my boy-my boy? What care I for the men, sailor? I’m not their 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

HEAVEN. 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 I 0 what’ll she do in Heaven, my lassie? 0 what’ll 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. 348 0

Page 349 view page image

SHE’S GANE TO DWALL IN HEAVEN. Fu’ soon I’ll follow 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-cauld face, my lassie; I looked on thy death-cauld face: Thou seemed a lily new cut i’ the bud, An’

fadin’ in its place. I 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 naught but dust now mine. nMy soul’s wi’ thee i’ the cauld grave, An’ wihy should I stav ahin’? ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 349

Page 350 view page image

JAMES MELVILLE’S CHILD. ONE time my soul was pierced as with a sword, Contending still with men untaught 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 given, A very summer fragrance was its life; Its clear eyes soothed me as the blue of heaven, When home I turned, a weary man of strife. With unformed laughter, musically sweet, How soon the wakening babe would meet mv kiss: WVith outstretched arms, its care-wrought father greet’ 0, in the desert, what a spring was this! A few short months it blossomed near my heart: A few short months, else toilsome all, and sad; But that home-solace nerved me for my part, And of the babe I was exceeding glad. Alas! my pretty bud, scarce formed, was dying; (The prophet’s gourd, it withered in a night!) And He who gave me all, my heart’s pulse trying, Took gently home the child of my dleliclght. 350

Page 351 view page image

JAMES MELVILLE’S CHILD. Not rudely culled, not suddenly it perished, But gradual faded friom our love away: As if, still, secret dews, its life that cherished, Were drop by drop withheld, and day by day. My blessed Master saved me from repining, So tenderly He sued me for His own; So beautiful He made my babe’s declining, Its dying blessed me as its birth had done. And daily to my board at noon and even Our fading flower I bade his mother bring, That we might commune of our rest in Heaven, 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! There were two milk-white doves, my wife had nourished; And I too loved, erewhile, at times to stand Marking how each the other fondly cherished, And fed them from my baby’s dimpled hand! So tame they grew that, to his cradle flying, Full oft they cooed him to his noontide rest; And to the murmurs of his sleep replying, Crept gently in, and nestled in his breast. 351

Page 352 view page image

~~~~~ji\~~ \ ‘Twas a fair sight: the snow-pale infant sleeping, So fondly guardianed by those creatures mild, Watch o’er his closed eyes their brighlt eyes keeping: Wondrous the love betwixt the birds and child!

Still as he sickened seemed the doves too dwiniiig, 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. 352

Page 353 view page image

.TO iMARY IN IIEAVEN. The othler flew to meet my sad hliomie-riding, As withl a liunan sorrow in its coo; To my dead chlild and its dead mnate then guiding, MIost pitifully plained - and parted too. ‘Twas my first lhansel and propine to Heaven; Anld as I laid my darling’neatli tlle sod, Precious His comforts - once all infant given, And offered withl two turtle-doves to God! Mts. A. STIUART MFNTEATH. TO MARY IN HEAVEN. THOU
lingering star, withl lessening ray, Tlhat lov’st to greet the early morn, Again thlou ushlerest in the day My Mary firom my soul was toni. 0 Mary!

dear, departed shlade! Where is thlly place of blissful rest? Seest thllou thly lover lowly laid? Hear’st thou thle groans thllat rend Ihis breast?

That sacred ]our can I forget, Can I forget the hliallowed grove, Wlhere by the winidi(ng Ayr we met, To live one day of )arting love? 35b 0. IN

Page 354 view page image

T() MARY IN lIEAVEN. Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past, Tlly image at our last embrace: All! little thought we’twas our last! Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, O’erhlung with wildwoods, thickeniing, green The fragrant birch, and hawthorn lloar, Twined amorous round the raptured scene. Tile flowers sprang wanton to be p)rest, The birds sanig love on every spray, Till too, too soon, the glowingc west Proclaimed the speed of winged day. Still o’er these scenes my memory wakes, And fondly broods with miser care; Time but tli’

impression deeper makes, A. streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary!

dear, departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast? I{(.EiRT

BUIJRN& 354

Page 355 view page image

AH, CIHL()RIS I AH, Clioris! that I now could sit As unconcerned as when Your infant beauty could( beget No pleasure nor no pain! When I the dawn used to admire, And praised the coming day, I little thought the growing 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, insensibly, To their perfection prest, Fond love as unperceived did fly, Apid in nmy bosom rest. My passion with your beauty grew; And Cupid, at my heart, Still, as his mother favored you, Tlrew a new flaming dart. 355 ol

Page 356 view page image

SIXTEEN. Each gloried in their wanton part: To make a loveri, he Employed the utmost of his art; To make a beauty, she. Though now I slowly bend to love, Uncertain of my fate, If your fair self my chlains approve I shall my freedom hlate. Lovers, like dying men, may well At first disordered beSince none alive can truly tell What fortune they must see. SitR

CHARLIES SEDI,LEY. SIXTEEN. IN Clementina’s artless mien Lucilla asks me what I see - An(l are the roses of sixteen iEnough for me? Lucilla asks, if’ that be all Have I not culled as sweet befbre? Ah yes, Lucilla! and their fall I still deplore. I now bellold another scene, Where pleasure beams withle 356 .0 heai-en’s own light

Page 357 view page image

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, when she goes, Is gone forever. WALTER

SAVAGE LANDOR. IN VAIN YOU TELL. [N 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 painOnce more in dying notes complain Of slighted vows and cold disdain. MATTHEW PRIOR. 357

_W

Page 358 view page image

BREAK, BREAK, BREAK T BREAlK, bi’eak, break, On thivy c(old (i -ay stones, 0 Sea! Anid I wotIl(I that imy toIlitIue could utter Tile tliouiiglts tlhat arise in mne. O well foi the fislieirani’s boy, Tlhat hle shiotits with his sister at play O well for thle sailor lad, That he si,ngs ill his boat on the bay 35$

Page 359 view page image

And the stately ships go on To the haven under the llill; But 0 for the touch of a vanished hand, And tile sound(l of a voice that is still!

Bireak, )reik, )realk, At the foot of tly crags, 0 Sea! Butit the tender oiace of a dlay that is dead WVill never coime 1)a(ck to me.

AL,FIRED’ENNYS}() THE PASSAGE. M ANY a year is in its grave Since I crossed this restless wave; And the evening, fair as ever. Shines on ruin, rock, and river. 335 () .0

Page 360 view page image

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 forni Passed in battle and in stornm. So, whene’er I turn my eye Back upon the days gone by, Saddening thoughts of friends come o’er me, Friends that closed their course before me. But what binds us, friend to firiend, But that soul with soul can blend? Soul-like were those hours of yore; Let us walk in soul once more. Take, 0 boatman, thrice thy fee: Take-I give it willingly; For, invisible to thee, Spirits twain have crossed with ine. JO,HANN LUDWIG UHLAND. (Geiman.) Anoiiymous Translation.

360

Page 361 view page image

SONGS OF NATURE. a

Page 362 view page image

16

Page 363 view page image

THF groves were God’s first temples. Ere man learned A FOREST HYMIN. 3 t; “I

Page 364 view page image

A FoREST IIYMIN. To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them-ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication.

For his simple heart Might not resist the sacred influences Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound Of the invisible breath that swayed at once All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed His spirit with the thought of boundless power And inaccessible majesty.

Ah, why Should we, in the world’s riper years, neglect God’s ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd, and under roofs That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least, Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, Offer one hymn-thrice happy, if it find Acceptance in His ear.

Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns, thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, And shot toward heaven. The century-living crow Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died 864

Page 365 view page image

A FOREST IIYSAMSN. Among their branches, till, at last, they stood, As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults, These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride Report not. No fantastic carvings show The boast of our vain race to change the form Of thy fair works. But thou art here-thou fill’st The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summit of these trees In music; thou art in the cooler breath That from th6 inmost darkness of the place Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground. The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee. Here is continual worship; -Nature, here, In the tranquillity that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, Fromn perch to perch, the solitary bird Passes; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, Wells softly forth and wandering steeps the roots Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness, in these shades, Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oakBy whose immovable stem I stand and seem Almost annihilated-not a prince, In all that proud old world beyond the deep, E’er wore his crown as loftily as he Wears the green coronal of leaves with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root :365

Page 366 view page image

A FOREST HIYMN. Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, With scented breath and look so like a smile, Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, An emanation of the indwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soul of this great universe. My heart is awed within me when I think Of the great miracle that still goes on, In silence, round me-the perpetual work Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed’ Forever. Written on thy works I read The lesson of thy own eternity. Lo! all grow old and die-but see again, How on the faltering footsteps of decay Youth presses-ever gay and beautiful youth In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees Wave not less proudly that their ancestors Moulder beneath them. 0, there is not lost One of earth’s charmns: upon her bosom yet, After the flight of untold centuries, The freshness of her far beginning lies And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate Of his arch-enemy Death-yea, seats himself Upon the tyrant’s throne -the sepulchre, And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth From thline own bosom, and shall have no end. There have been holy men who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave 366

Page 367 view page image

A FORI,ST IIYM1N. Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seemed Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks Around them; -and there have been holy men Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. But let me often to these solitudes Retire, and in thy presence reassure My feeble virtue. Here its enemies, The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink And tremble and are still. O

God! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill, With all the waters of the firmament, The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, Uprises the great deep and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms Its cities - who forgets not, at the sight Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by? 0, from these sterner aspects of thy face Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath Of the mad unchained elements to teach Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, In these calm shades, thy milder majesty, And to the beautiful order of thy works Learn to conform the order of our lives. WILLIAM CULI.LEN BRYANT. 367

Page 368 view page image

“Your qualities surpass your charms.” - L I,xN(,;UAxE ot FLowER.4

MIGNONETTE. I PASSED bcfore, er garden gate’ She stood aiiong her r-oses, And stooped a; little fioni the sta,te In Mll whi cl(hr pIride r(eposes, To make her flowers a gr’,eful p )lea For luring iId delating I(!. 3C88

Page 369 view page image

MIGNONETTE. “When summer blossoms fade so soon,” She said with winning sweetness, “Who does not wear the badge of June Lacks something of completeness. .[y garc,n \elcoines ylltt t-da-‘, Come in and gather, while you may.” I entered in: she led me through A maze of leafy arches, Where velvet-purple pansies grew Beneath the sighing larches, A shadowy, still, and cool retreat That gave excuse for lingering feet. She paused; pulled down a trailing vire; And twisted round her finger Its starry sprays of jessamine, As one who seeks to linger. But I smiled lightly in her face, And passed on to the open space. Passed many a flower-bed fitly set In trim and blooming order, And plucked at last some mignonett. That strayed along the border; A simple thing that had no bloom, And but a faint and far perfume. She wondered why I would not choose That dreamy amaryllis, 369

Page 370 view page image

MIGNONETTE. “And could I really, then, refuse Those heavenly white lilies!

And leave ungathered on the slope This passion-breathing heliotrope?” She did not know -what need to tell So fair and fine a creature? - That there was one who loved me well Of widely different nature; A little maid whose tender youth, And innocence, and simple truth, Had won my heart with qualities That far surpassed her beauty, And held me with unconscious ease Enthralled of love and duty; Whose modest graces all were met And symboled in my mignonette. I passed outside her garden-gate, And left her proudly smiling: Her roses bloomed too late, too late She saw, for my beguiling. I wore instead - and wear it yet - The single spray of mignonette. Its fragrance greets me unaware, A vision clear recalling Of shy, sweet eyes, and drooping hair In girlish tresses falling, 8?0

Page 371 view page image

THE DYING LOVER. And little hands so white and fine That timidly creep into mine; As she-all ignorant of the arts That wiser maids are plyingHas crept into my heart of hearts Past doubting or denying; Therein, while suns shall rise and set, To bloom unchanged, my Mignonette! MARY BRADLEY.

0 THE DYING LOVER. THE grass that is under me now Will soon be over me sweet! When you walk this way again, I shall not hear your feet. You may walk this way again And shed your tears like dew: They will be no more to me, then, Than mine are now to you. RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. 371

Page 372 view page image

PHILOMELA. HARK! ah, the Nigl,tingale! The tawny-throated! Hark! from that moonlit cedar what a burst What triumph! hark what pain! O wanderer from a Grecian shore, Still, after many years, in distant lands, Still nourishing in thy bewildered brain That wild, unquenched, deep-sunken, old-world pain’ Say, will it never heal? And can this fragrant lawn, With its cool trees, and night, And the sweet, tranquil Thames, And moonshine, and the dew, To thy racked heart and brain Afford no balm? Dost thou to-night behold, Here, through. the moonlight on this English grass The unfriendly palace in the Thracian wild? D)ost thou again peruse, With hot cheeks and seared eyes, The too clear web, and thy dumb sister’s shame?.

Dost thou once more essay Thy flight; and feel come over thee, Poor fugitive, the feathery change, Once more; and once more make resound, 372

Page 373 view page image

LUCY ASHTON’S SONG. With love and hate, triumph and agony, Lone Daulis, and the high Cephisian vale? Listen, Eugenia! How thick the bursts come crowding through the leaves’ Again -thou hearest? Eternal passion; Eternal pain! MATTHEW ARNOLD. LUCY ASHTON’S SONG. LooK not thou on Beauty’s charming; Sit thou still when kings are arming; Taste not when the winecup glistens; Speak not when the people listens; Stop thine ear against the singer; From the red gold keep thy finger: Vacant heart and hand and eye Easy live, and quiet die. SIR IVALTE’R SCOTT. 373 .0

Page 374 view page image

SPRING AND WINTER I. WHEN daisies pied, and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue, Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings lie: Cuckoo! Cuckoo, cuckoo! -O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear!

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, And merry larks are ploughlmen’s clocks, When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, And maidens bleach their summer smocks, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he: Cuckoo! Cuckoo, cuckoo!-O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear! II. When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, 374

Page 375 view page image

SABINA. When blood is nipped, and ways. be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl To-wlho! Tu-whit, to-who!- a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And cou(ghing drowns the parson’s ss And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian’s nose looks red and raw When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl To-who! Tu-whit, to-who! - a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the p)ot. SHAKESPEA RE. SABINA. SEE, see! She wakes- -Sabina.

wakes! And now the sun begins to rise: Less glorious is the morn that breaks From his bright beams than her fair eyes. With light united, Day they give; But different fates ere night filfili: How many by his warmth will live! How many will her coldness kill! WILLIAM COONGREVE. 375 .0 I.,

Page 376 view page image

WIND AND RAIN. RATTLE the window, Winds! Rain, drip on the panes I There are tears and sighs in our hearts and eyes, And a weary weight on our brains. ‘I’lie gray sea heaves and heaves, On the dreary flats of sand; And the blasted limb of the churchyard yew, It shakes like a ghostly hand!

The dead are engulfed beneath it, Suink in the grassy waves; But we have more dead in our hearts to-day Than the Ea th in all her graves! RICHATRD

IIHENRY ST11)DARI}. 376

Page 377 view page image

THE BELFRY PIGEON. ON the cross-Leam under the Old South bell The nest of a pigeon is builded well. In summer and winter that bird is there, Out and in with the morning air. I love to see him track the street, With his wary eye and active feet; And I often watch him as lie springs, Circling the steeple with easy wings, Till across the dial his shade has passed, And the belfry edge is gained at last. ‘Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note, And the trembling throb in its mottled throat There’s a human look in its swelling breast, And the gentle curve of its lowly crest; And I often stop with the fear I feel, He runs so close to the rapid wheel.

Whatever is rung on that noisy bell, Chime of the hour, or funeral knell, The dove in the belfry must hear it well. When the tongue swings out to the midnight moon, When the sexton cheerly rings for noon, When the clock strikes clear at morning light, When the child is waked with “nine at night,” When the chimes play soft in the Sabbath air, Filling( the spirit with tones of prayer, 377

Page 378 view page image

THE BELFRY PIGEON. Whatever tale in the bell is heard, He broods on his folded feet unstirred, Or, rising half in his rounded nest, He takes the time to smooth his breast; Then drops again, with filmed eyes, And sleeps as the last vibration dies. Sweet bird I I would that I could be A hermit in the crowd like thee I With wings to fly to wood and glen, Thy lot, like mine, is cast with men; And daily, with unwilling feet, I tread, like thee, the crowded street; But, unlike me, when day is o’er, Thou canst dismiss the world, and soar; Or, at a half-felt wish for rest, Canst smooth the feathers on thy breast, And drop, forgetful, to thy nest. I would that, in such wings of gold, I could my weary heart upfold; I would I could look down unmoved, (Unloving as I am unloved,) And while the world throngs on beneath, Smooth down my cares and calmly breathe; And never sad with others’ sadness, And never glad with others’ gladness, Listen, unstirred, to knell or chime, And, lapped in quiet, bide my time.

NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIE. 378

Page 379 view page image

TH’IE SHEPHERD’S SON. THE gowan glitters on the sward, The lavrock’s in the sky, And Colley on my plaid keeps waid. And time is passing by. 0 no!

sad and slow! I hear nae welcome sound; The shadow of our trysting bush, It wears sae slowly round. My sheep-bell tinkles from the west, My lambs are bleating near; But still the sound that I lo’e best Alack! I canna hear. O no! sad and slow! The shadow lingers still, And like a lanely ghaist I stand, And croon upon the hill. I hear below the water roar, The mill with clacking din; And L-ucky scolding frae her door, To bring the bairnies in. O no! sad and slow! These are nae sounds for me; The shadow of our trysting bush, It creeps sae drearilie. 379

Page 380 view page image

THiE SHEPHERD’S SON. I coft yestreen frae chapman Tam A snood o’ bonnie blue, And promised, when our trysting cani, To tie it round her brow. 0
no! I sad and slow! The time it winna pass; The shadow of that weary thorn Is tethered on the grass. O now I see her on the way! I She’s past the witches’ knowe; She’s climbing up the brownie’s brac: My heart is in a lowe! O no!‘tis not so I ‘Tis glaumrie I hae seen; The shadow of the hawthorn bush Will move nae mair till e’en. .Iy book of grace I’ll try to read, Though conned wi’ little skill; When Colley barks I’ll raise my head, And find her on the hill. O no! sad and slow! The time will ne’er be gane; The shadow of the trysting bush Is fixed like ony stane. JOANNA BAILLIR. 380

Page 381 view page image

THE COUNT’S LITTLE DAUGHTER: A LEGEND OF NURE,MBERG. ~(,, y 7 Eu the gray old ( The shadow of m MAore tenderly kissed Her little child tt With a deeper prayer each father Laid his hand on his firstborn’s head, For in the castle above them Lay the Count’s little daughter, dead. Slow moved the great procession Down fromn the castle gate, To where the black-draped cathedral Blazed in funereal state. 381 -,t‘11”I p

Page 382 view page image

382 T[[E COUNT’S LITTLE DAUGHTER: A LEGEND) OF NUREMBERG. I’ \ l~~f” ~ -1

~ 1/I ~. _,=’=,II i I And they laid the little child down, In her robes of satin and gold, To sleep with her dead forefathers In their stone crypt, dark and cold. At midnight the Countess lay weeping ‘Neath her gorgeous canopy, She heard as it were a rustling, And little feet come nigh. She started up in the darkness, And with yearning gesture wild, She cried, “

Has the Father heard me? Art thou come back, my child?” Then a child’s voice, soft and pleading, Said, “I’ve come, O mother dear, ,I!‘I, I, I,, i: I” I I

Page 383 view page image

T[IE COUNT’S LITTLE DAUGHTER: A LEGEND OF NUREMBERG. 383 To ask if you will not lay me Where the little birds I can ]iear; “The little birds in their singing, And the children in their play, Where the sun shines bright on the flowerrs All the long summer day. ” In the stone crypt I lie weeping, For I cannot choose but fear, Such wailings dire and ceaseless From the dead Counts’ coffins I hear. “And I’m all alone, dear mother, No other child is there; 0, lay me to sleep in the sunshine, Where all is bright and fair. } y! z _

Page 384 view page image

384 TEle COUNT’S LITTLE DAUGHTER: A LEGEND OF NUREMBERG. “I cannot stay, dear mother, I must back to the moans and gloom; I must lie there, fearing and weeping, Till you take me from my tomb.” Then the Countess roused her husband, Saying, “Give to me, I pray, That spot of green by the deep fosse, Where the children lovc to play. “For our little one lies weeping, And asks, for Christ’s dear sake, That’mid song and sunlight and flowers.

Near children her grave we make.’ I ,i, ~ ! Y./iA ‘,,I, MN; :7 I( <~,’

And the green spot was made a garden, Blessed by priests with book and prayer, j, I!h,. 11/i . I -,i.\l 1,

Page 385 view page image

THE HOLLY TREE. And they laid the Count’s little daughter ‘Mid flowers and sunlight there. And to the children forever The Count and Countess gave As a play-ground, that smiling garden By their little daughter’s grave. MRs.

R. S. GREENOUGH. THE HOLLY TREE O READER! hast thou ever stood to see The holly tree? The eye that contemplates it well, perceives Its glossy leaves Ordered by an intelligence so wise As might confound the atheist’s sophistries. 385 I- ( T, I ~.

/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~k

Page 386 view page image

THE HOLLY TREE. Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen Wrinkled and keen; No grazing cattle, through their prickly round, Can reach to wound; But as they grow where nothing is to fear, Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves appear. I love to view these things with curious eyes, And moralize; And in this wisdom of the holly tree Can emblems see Wherewith, perchance, to make a pleasant rhyme, One which may profit in the after-time. Thus, though abroad, perchance, I might appear Harsh and austere, To those who on my leisure would intrude Reserved and rude; Gentle at home, amid my friends, I’d be, Like the high leaves upon the holly tree. And should my youth, as youth is Some harshness show, All vain asperities I, day by day, Would wear away, Till the smooth temper of my age s Like the high leaves upon the holly And as, when all the summer trees are seen So bright and green, 386 apt I knowv,

Page 387 view page image

THE NYMPH COMPLAINING FOR THE DEATH OF HER FAWN. 387 The holly leaves their fadeless hues display Less bright than they; But when the bare and wintry woods we see, What then so cheerfiul as the holly tree? So, serious should my youth appear among The thoughtless throng; So would I seem, amid the young and gay, More grave than they; That in my age as cheerful I might be As the green winter of the holly tree. ROBiFRT SOUTHIEY. ]HE

NYMPH COMPLALNING FOR THE DEATH OF HER FAWN THE wanton troopers, riding by, Have shot my fawn, and it will die. Ungentle men! they cannot thrive, Who killed thee. Thou ne’er didst, alive, Them any harm; alas! nor could Thy death yet do them any good. I’m sure I never wished them ill, Nor do I for all this, nor will: But, if my simple prayers may yetc Prevail with Heaven to forget Thy murder, I will join my tears, Rather than fail. But 0, my fears! .0

Page 388 view page image

388 THE NYMPH COMPLANNG FOR THE DEATH OF HER FAWN. It cannot die so.

Heaven’s King Keeps register of everything, And nothling may we use in vain; Even beasts must be with justice slain, Else men are made their deodands. Though they should wash their guilty hands In this warm life-blood, which doth part From thine and wound me to the heart, Yet could they not be clean-their stain Is dyed in such a purple grain; There is not such another in The world, to offer for their sin. Inconstant Sylvio! when yet I had not found him counterfeit, One morning (I remember well), Tied in this silver chain and bell, Gave it to me. Nay, and I know What hlie said then-I’m sure I do: Said he, “Look how your huntsman hero Hatli taught a fawn to hunt his dear!” But Sylvio soon had me beguiled: This waxed tame, while lie grew wild; And, quite regardless of my smart, Left me his fawn, but took his heart. Thenceforth, I set myself to play My solitary time away, With this; and, very well content, Could so mine idle life have spent. For it was full of sport, and light Of foot and heart, and did invite Me to its game. It seemed to bless

Page 389 view page image

THE NYMIPH COMPLAINING FOR THE DEATH OF HER FAWN. 389 Itself in me; how could I less Than love it? O! I cannot be Unkind t’ a beast that loveth me. Had it lived long, I do not know Whether it, too, might have done so As Sylvio did-his gifts might be Perhaps as false, or more, than he. For I am sure, for aught that I Could in so short a time espy, Thy love was far more better than The love of false and cruel man. With sweetest milk, and sugar, first I it at mine own fingers nursed; And as it grew, so every day It waxed more white and sweet than they. It had so sweet a breath! and oft I blushed to see its foot more soft And white-shall I say than my hand? Nay! any lady’s of the land. It is a wondrous thing how fleet ‘Twas, on those little silver feet! With what a pretty, skipping grace It oft would challenge me the race! And when’t had left me far away, ‘Twould stay, and run again, and stay; For it was nimbler, much, than hinds, And trod as if on the four winds. I have a garden of my own, But so with roses overgrown, And lilies, that you would it guess To be a little wilderness;

Page 390 view page image

390 TIIE NI’MPH COMPLAINING FOR THE DEATH OF HER FAWN. And all the spring-time of the year It only loved to be there. Among the beds of lilies I Have sought it oft, where it should lie Yet could not, till itself would rise, Find it, although before mine eyes; For ill the flaxen lilies’ shade It like a bank of lilies laid. Upon the roses it would feed, Until its lips ev’n seemed to bleed; And then to me’twould boldly tril), And print those roses on my lip. But all its chief delight was still On roses thus itself to fill, And its pure virgin limbs to fold In whitest sheets of lilies cold. Had it lived long, it would have becie Lilies without, roses within. O help! O help! I see it faint, And die as calmly as a saint! See, how it weeps! the tears do come, Sad, slowly, dropping like a gum. So weeps the wounded balsam; so The holy frankincense doth flow; The brotherless Heliades Melt in such amber tears as these. I in a golden vial will Keep these two crystal tears, and fill It, till it do o’erflow, with miine; Then place it in Diana’s shrine. Now my sweet fawn is vanished to

Page 391 view page image

COME, BEAUTEOUS DAY. Whither the swans and turtles go, In fair Elysium to endure, With milk-white lambs, and ermins pure. O do not run too fast! for I Will but bespeak thy grave -and die. First, my unhappy statue shall Be cut in marble; and withal, Let it be weeping too. But there Th’ engraver sure his art may spare; For I so truly thee bemoan, That I shall weep, though I be stone, Until my tears, still drooping, wear My breast, themselves engraving there. There at my feet shalt thou be laid, Of purest alabaster made; For I would have thine image be White as I can, though not as thee. ANDREW MARVELL. COME, BEAUTEOUS DAY. COME, beauteous day! Never did lover on his bridal iiglht So chide thine over-eager light As I thy long delay! 391 _ _

Page 392 view page image

COME, BEAUTEOUS DAY. Bring me my rest! Never can these sweet thorny roses, Whereon my heart reposes, Be into slumber pressed. Day be my night I Night hath no stars to rival with her eyes; Night hath no peace like his who lies Upon her bosom white. She did transmute This my poor cell into a paradise, Gorgeous with blossoming lips and dewy eyes, And all her beauty’s fruit. Nor dull nor gray Seems to mine eyes this dim and wintry morn: Ne’er did the rosy banners of the dawn Herald a brighter day. Come, beauteous day! Come! or in sunny light, or storm eclipse! Bring me the immortal Summer of her lips; Then have thy way! WILLIAM HENRY HURLBUT. 392

Page 393 view page image

THE NIGHT PIECE. HER eyes the glow-wolme lend thee The shooting-starres attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. No Will-o’-th’-Wispe mislight thee, Nor snake nor slow-worme bite thee; But on thy way, Not making stay, Since ghost there’s none t’ affright thee. Let not the darke thee cumber; What though the moon does slumber? The stars of the night Will lend thee their light, Like tapers cleare, without number. Then, Julia, let me woo thee, Thus, thus to come unto me; And when I shall meet Thy silvery feet, My soule I’ll pour into thee! ROBERT HERRICK. 393

Page 394 view page image

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~ 4.’~~~~~~~~~~4 e~~~l, ~T

Page 395 view page image

A WINTER SCENE. WINTER’S wild birthnight! In the fretful East The uneasy wind moans with its sense of cold, And sends its sighs through gloomy mountain gorge, Along the valley, up the whitening hill, To tease the sighing spirits of the pines, And waste in dismal woods their chilly life.

The sky is dark, and on the huddled leavesThe restless, rustling leaves-sifts down its sleet, Till the sharp crystals pin them to the earth, And they grow still beneath the rising storm. The roofless bullock hugs the sheltering stack, With cringing head and closely gathered feet, And waits with dumb endurance for the morn. Deep in a gusty cavern of the barn The witless calf stands blatant at his chain; While the brute mother, pent within her stall, With the wild stress of instinct goes distraught, And frets her horns, and bellows through the night. The stream runs black; and the far waterfall, That sang so sweetly through the summer eves, And swelled and swayed to Zephyr’s softest breath, Leaps with a sullen roar the dark abyss, And howls its hoarse responses to the wind. The mill is still. The distant factory, That swarmed yestreen with many fingered life, And bridged the river with a hundred bars 895

Page 396 view page image

UP IN THE TREE. Of molten light, is dark, and lifts its bulk With dim, uncertain angles, to the sky. Yet lower bows the storm. The leafless trees Lash their lithe limbs, and with majestic voice, Call to each other through the deepening gloom; And slender trunks that lean on burly boughs Shriek with the sharp abrasion; and the oak, Mellowed in fibre by unnumbered frosts, Yields to the shoulder of the Titan Blast, Forsakes its poise, and, with a booming crash, Sweeps a fierce passage to the smothered rocks, And lies a shattered ruin. JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND. UP IN THE TREE.

WHAT would you see, if I took you up My little aerie-stair? You would see the sky like a clear blue cup Turned upside down in the air. What would you do, up my aerie-stair, In my little nest on the tree? My child with cries would trouble the air, To get what she could but see. $96 0

Page 397 view page image

HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. What would you get in the top of the tree, For all your crying and grief? Not a star would you clutch of all you see You could only gather a leaf. But when you had lost your greedy grief, Content to see from afar, You would find in your hand a withering leaf, In your heart a shining star. GEORGE MACDONALD. HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. DAY-STARS!

that ope your eyes with morn to twinkle From rainbow galaxies of earth’s creation, And dew-drops on her lonely altars sprinkle As a libation! Ye matin worshippers! who bending lowly Before the uprisen sun God’s lidless eyeThrow from your chalices a sweet and holy Incense on high! 397 4p

Page 398 view page image

HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. Ye bright mosaics! that with storied beauty The floor of Nature’s temple tessellate: What numerous emblems of instructive duty Your forms create! ‘Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingeth, And tolls its perfume on the passing air, Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth A call to prayer. 398

Page 399 view page image

HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column Attest the feebleness of mortal hand, But to that fane, most catholic and solemn, Which God hath planned: To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supp)ly - Its choir the winds and waves, its organ thunder, Its dome the sky. There - as in solitude and shade I wander Through the green aisles, or, stretched uponI the sod, Awed by the silence, reverently ponder The ways of God Your voiceless lips, 0 Flowers, are living preaclicirs, Each cup a pilpit, and each leaf a book, Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers From loneliest nook. Floral Apostles! that in dewy splendor “Weep without woe, and blush without a crime,” O may I deeply learn, and ne’er surrender, Your lore sublime I ‘ Thou wert not, Solomon, in all thy glory, Arrayed,” the lilies cry, “in robes like ours: How vain your grandeur! Ah, how transitory Are human flowers ”’ 399

Page 400 view page image

HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. In the sweet-scented pictures, Heavenly Artist, With which thou paintest Nature’s wide-spread hall, What a delightful lesson thou impartest Of love to all! Not useless are ye, Flowers! though made for pleasure; Blooming o’er field and wave, by day and night, From every source your sanction bids me treasure Harmless delight. Ephemeral sages!

what instructors hoary For such a world of thought could furnish scope?

Each fading calyx a memento mori, Yet fount of hope. Posthumous glories!

angel-like collection! Upraised from seed or bulb interred in earth, Ye are to me a type of resurrection, And second birth. Were I, O God, in churchless lands remaining, Far from all voice of teachers or divines, My soul would find, in flowers of Thy ordaining, Priests, sermons, shrines!

HORACE SMITH. 400

Page 401 view page image

SONG TO MAY. MAY! queen of blossoms, And fulfilling flowers, With what pretty music Shall we charni the hours’/ Wilt thou have pipe and reed, Blown in the open mead? Or to the lute give heed, In the green bowers?

Thou hast no need of us, Or pipe or wire, That hast the golden bee Ripened with fire; And many thousand more Songsters, that thee adore, Filling earth’s grassy floor With new desire. Thou hast thy mighty hlerds, Tame, and free livers; Doubt not, thy music too In the deep rivers; And the whole plumy flight. Warbling the day and night Up at the gates of light, See, the lark quivers! 401

Page 402 view page image

THE RHODORA. When with the jacinth Coy fountains are tressed, And for the mournful bird Greenwoods are dressed, That did for Tereus pine, Then shall our songs be thine. To whlom our hearts incline: May, be thou blessed!

1LOitI) TI[UR[LOW THE RHODORA. IN May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook: ‘l’he purple petals, fallen in the pool, Made the black waters with their beauty gay; Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, And court the flower that cheapens his array. Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky, Dear, tell them that if eyes were made for seeing, Then beauty is its own excuse for being. Why thou wert there, O
rival of the rose! I never thought to ask, I never knew; But in my simple ignorance suppose ‘The selfsame Power that brought me there, brought you.

RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 402

Page 403 view page image

THE FAIRIES. Ur the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren’t go a hunting, For fear of little men: Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl’s feather! Down along the rocky shore Some make their home: They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam; Some in the reeds Of the black mountain-lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake. High on the hill-top The old king sits; He is now so old and gray He’s nigh lost his wits. With a bridge of white mist Columbkill he crosses, 403

Page 404 view page image

THE FAIRIES. On his stately journeys From Slieveleague to Rosses; Or going up with music, On cold, starry nights, To sup with the queen Of the gay Northern Lights. They stole little Bridget For seven years long; When she came down again Her frieniids were all gone. They took her lightly back, Between the night and morrow; They thought that she was ifkt asleep But she was dead with sorrow. They have kept her ever since Deep within the lakes, On a bed of flag-leaves, Watching till she wakes. By the craggy hill-side, Through the mosses bare, Thev have planted thorn-trees For pleasure here and there; Is any man so daring To dig one up in spite, He shall find the thornies set In his bed at night. Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, 404

Page 405 view page image

THE FAIRIES. I. I, -, We darlen’t go a hunt ing, For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl’s feather! WII.T.IAM ALLINGHAM. 405

Page 406 view page image

SIIMMF,R DAYS. IN Summer, when the days were long, We walked together in the wood: Our heart was light, our step was strong; Sweet flutterinigs were there in our blood, In Summer, when the days were long. We strayed from morn till evening came; We gathered flowers, and wove us crowns; We walked’mid poppies red as flame, Or sat upon the yellow downs, And always wished our life the same. In Summer, when the days were long, We leaped the hedgerow, crossed the brook; And still her voice flowed forth in song, Or else she read some graceful book, In Summer, when the days were long.

And then we sat beneath the trees, With shadows lessening in the noon; And, in the sunlight and the breeze, We feasted, many a gorgeous June, While larks were singing o’er the leas. 406

Page 407 view page image

SUMMER DAYS. In Summer, when the days were long, On dainty chicken, snow-white bread, We feasted, with no grace but song. We plucked wild strawberries, ripe and red, In Summer, when the days were long. We loved, and yet we knew it not; For loving seemed like breathing then. We found a heaven in every spot, Saw angels too, in all good men, And dreamed of God in grove and grot. In Summer, when the days are long, Alone I wander, muse alone. I see her not; but that old song Under the fragrant wind is blown, In Summer, when the days are long. Alone I wander in the wood; But one fair spirit hears my sighs; And half I see, so glad and good, The honest daylight of her eyes, That charmed me under earlier skies. In Summer, when the days are long, I love her as we loved of old; My heart is light, my step is strong; For love brings back those hours of gold, In Summers when the days are long. AxONYMOUB 407

Page 408 view page image

THE VIOLET. O FAINT, delicious, spning-time violet, Thine odor, like a key, Turns noiselessly in memory’s wards, to let A thought of sorrow free!

The breath of distant fields upon my Blows through that open door The sound of wind-borne bells, more And sadder thain of yore. It comes afar, from that beloved place, And that beloved hour, When life hung ripening in love’s golden grace, Like grapes above a bower. A spring goes singing through its reedy grass; The lark sings o’er my head, Drowned in the sky-O0 pass, ye visions, pass. I would that I were dead! Why hast thou opened that forbidden door From which I ever flee? O vanished Joy! O Love, that art no more, Let my vexed spirit be! 0 violet! thine odor through n Hath searched, and stung This sunny day, as if a curse d Thy velvet leaf.

WILLIAM WETMORE STORY. 408 sweet and low

Page 409 view page image

ROSALIND’S MADRIGAL. LOVE in my bosom, like a bee, Doth suck his sweet; Now with his wings he plays with me, Now with his feet; Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His b)ed amidst my tender breast; My kisses are his daily feast; And yet hlie robs me of my rest: Ah, wanton! will ye? And if I sleep, then percheth he With pretty flight, And makes his pillow of my knee The livelong night. Strike I my lute, he tunes the string; He music plays if so I sing; He lends me every lovely thing; Yet cruel he my heart doth sting: Whist, wanton! still ye! Else I with roses every day Will whip you hence, And bind you when you long to play. For your offence; 409

Page 410 view page image

VIRTUE. I’ll shut mine eyes to keep you in, I’ll make you fast it for your sin, I’ll count your power not worth a p)in: Alas! what hereby shall I win If he gainsay me? What if I beat the wanton boy, With many a rod? He will repay me with annoy, Because a god. Then sit thou safely on my knee, And let thy bower my bosom be; Lurk in mine eyes -I like of thee. 0 Cupid, so thou pity me, Spare not, but play thee! TIiOMAS LODGE, VIRTUE. SWEET day!

so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky! The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou must die. Sweet rose! whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thv root is ever in its grave; And thou must die. 410 .0

Page 411 view page image

SONG. Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, Thy music shows ye have your closes; And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives. GEORGE HEIRBERT. SONG.

THE world goes up, and the world goes down, And the sunshine follows the rain; And yesterday’s sneer and yesterday’s frown Can never come over again, Sweet wife, No, never come over again. For woman is warm though man be cold, And the night will hallow the day; Till the heart which at even was weary and old Can rise in the morning gay, Sweet wife, To its work in the morning gay. CHARLES KINGSLEY. 411

Page 412 view page image

I THE BROOKSIDE. I WANDERED by the brook-side, I wandered by tile mill; I could not hear the brook flow, The noisy wheel was still; There was no burr of grasshopper, No chirp of any bird; Bat the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. 412

Page 413 view page image

THE BROOKSIDE. I sat beneath the elm-tree; I watched the long, long shade, And, as it grew still longer, I did not feel afraid; For I listened for a footfall, I listened for a word; But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. He came not - no, he came not; The night came on alone: The little stars sat, one by one, Each on his golden throne; The evening wind passed by my cneek, The leaves above were stirred; But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. Fast silent tears were flowing, When something stood behind; A hand was on my shoulder, I knew its touch was kind: It drew me nearer - nearer, We did not speak one word; For the beating of our own hearts Was all the sound we heard. RICHARD

MONCKTON MILNES. 418

Page 414 view page image

LITTLE BELL. HEe prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. A THE ANCIENT MARINER..’ PIPED the blackbird on the beechwood spray: ,Pretty maid, slow wandering this way, What’s your name?” quothli he; “What’s your name? 0 stop, and straight unfold, Pretty maid with showery curls of gold.” “Little Bell,” said she. Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks, Tossed aside her gleaming golden locks: “Bonny bird,”

quoth she, “Sing me your best song before I go.” “Here’s the very finest song I know, Little Bell,” said he. And the blackbird piped; you never heard Half so gay a song from any bird, Full of quips and wiles: Now so round and rich, now soft and slow; All for love of that sweet face below, Dimpled o’er with smiles. 414

Page 415 view page image

LITTLE BELL. And the while the bonny bird did pour His fuill heart out freely, o’er and o’er, ‘Neath the morning skies, In the little childish heart below All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, And shine forth in happy overflow From the blue, bright eyes. Down the dell she tripped, and through the glade; Peeped the squirrel from the hazel shade, And from out the tree Swung, and leaped, and frolicked, void of fear; While bold blackbird piped that all might hear, “Little Bell!” piped he. Little Bell sat down amid the fern; ” Squirrel, squirrel, to your task return: Bring me nuts!” quoth she. Up, away the frisky squirrel hies, Golden wood-lights glancing in his eyes, And adown the tree, Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun, In the little lap dropped one by one; Hark, how blackbird pipes to see the fun’ “Happy Bell!” pipes he. Little Bell looked up and down the glade: “Squirrel, squirrel, if you’re not afraid, Come and share with me!”

Down came squirrel, eager for his fare, Down came bonny blackbird I declare. 415

Page 416 view page image

LITTLE BELL. Little Bell gave each his honest share: Ah, the merry three!

And the while these frolic playmates twain Piped, and frisked from bough to bough agan, ‘Neath the morning skies, In the little childish heart below All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, And shine out in happy overflow, From the blue, bright eyes. By her snow-white cot at close of day, Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms, to pray. Very calm and clear Rose the praying voice to where, unseen, In blue heaven, an angel shape serene Paused awhile to hear. 1”What good child is this,” the angel said, “That, with happy heart, beside her bed Prays so lovingly?” Low and soft, 0 very low and soft! Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft: “Bell, dear Bell! ” crooned he. “Whom God’s creatures love,” the angel fair Murmured, ” God doth bless with angels’ care; Child, thy bed shall be Folded safe from harm.- Love deep and kind Shall watch around, and leave good gifts behind, Little Bell, for thee.” THOMAS WESTWOOD. 416

Page 417 view page image

THE E’ADED VIO],ET. WHAT thought is folded in thy leaves! What tender thought, what speechless pain! I hold thy faded lips to mine, Thou darling of the April rain. I hold thy faded lips to mine, Though scent and azure tint are fled; 0 dry, mute lips, ye are the type Of something in me cold and dead: Of something wilted like thy leaves, Of fragrance flown, of beauty dim; Yet, for the love of those white hands That found thee by a river’s brim, ‘iThat found thee when thy sunny mouthl Was purpled, as with drinking wine: For love of her who love forgot, I hold thy faded lips to mine. That thou shouldst live when I am dead. When hate is dead for me, and wrong, For this I use my subtlest art, For this I fold thee’in my song. THOMAS BAILEY ALI)RICII. 417 i

Page 418 view page image

L i I V a’s I 4 t~~~~~~~~~~~4~ l ‘e !. A\ . I? Il I

Page 419 view page image

‘rHE MOUNTAIN HEART’S-EASE. BY scattered rocks and turbid waters shifting, By furrowed glade and dell, To feverish men thy calm, sweet face uplifting Thou stayest them to tell The delicate thought, that cannot find expression, For ruder speech too fair, That, like thy petals, trembles in possession, And scatters on the air. The miner pauses in his rugged labor, And, leaning on his spade, Laughingly calls unto his comrade neighbor To see thy charms displayed; But in his eyes a mist unwonted rises, And for a moment clear, Some sweet home-face his foolish thought surprises And passes in a tear, Some boyish vision of his Easteri village, Of uneventful toil, Where golden harvests followed quiet tillage Above a peaceful soil: 419

Page 420 view page image

TIDES. One moment only, for the pick, uplifting, Through root and fibre cleaves, And on the muddy current slowly drifting Are swept thy bruised leaves. And yet, 0 poet, in thy homely fashion Thy work thou dost fulfill, For on the turbid current of his passion Thy face is shining still! BRET

HARTE TIDES. O PATIENT shore, that canst not go to meet Thy love, the restless sea, how comfortest Thou all thy loneliness? Art thou at rest, When, loosing his strong arms from round thy feet, He turns away? Know’st thou, however sweet That other shore may be, that to thy breast He must return? And when in sterner test He folds thee to a heart which does not beat, Wraps thee in ice, and gives no smile, no kiss, To break long wintry days, still dost thou miss Naught from thy trust? Still wait, unfaltering, The higher, warmer waves which leap in spring? O sweet, wise shore, to be so satisfied! O heart, learn from the shore! Love has a tide! H. H, 420 __

Page 421 view page image

TO PRIMROSES, FILLED WITH MORING DEW. WVHY do ye weep. sweet babes? Can tears Speak grief in you, Who were but born Just as the modest morn Teemed her refreshing dew? Alas! ye have not known that shower That mars a flower, Nor felt the unkind Breath of a blasting wind; Nor are ye worn with years, Or warped, as we, Who think it strange to see Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, Speaking by tears before ye have a tonogu, Speak, whimpering younglings! The reason why Ye droop and weep. Is it for want of sleep, Or childish lullaby? Or that ye have not seen as The violet? Or brought a kiss From that sweetheart t 421 and make known

Page 422 view page image

TO BLOSSOMS. No, no; this sorrow, shown By your tears shed, Would have this lecture read: “That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceived with grief are. and with tears brought forth.’ ROBERT HERRICK.

‘~0 BLOSSOMS. FAIR pledges of a fruitfiul tree, Whyi do ye fall so fast?

Your date is not so past Butt you may stay yet here awhile, To blush and gently smile, And go at last. What! were ye born to be An hour or half’s delight, And so to bid good-night? “ris pity Nature brought ye forth; Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite. But you are lovely leaves’, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne’er so brave; And, after they have shown their pride Like you awhile, they glide Into the grave. ROBERT HERRICK 422 Y

Page 423 view page image

TO DAFFODILS FAIR daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon; As yet the early-rising sun Has not attained his noon: Stay, stay Until the hastening day Has rnm But to the even-song; And, having prayed together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay as you We have as short a Spring, As quick a growth to meet decay, As you, or anything. We die, As your hours do; and dry Away Like to the Summer’s rain, Or as the pearls of morning dew: Ne’er to be found again. ROBERT HERRICK 423

Page 424 view page image

THE MOTHER NIGHTINGALE I HAVE seen a nightingale On a sprig of thyme bewail, Seeing the dear nest, which was Hers alone, borne off, alas! By a laborer; I heard, For this outrage, the poor bird Say a thousand mournful things To the wind, which, on its wings, From her to the guardian of the sky, Bore her melancholy cry, Bore her tender tears. She spake As if her fond heart would break: One while, in a sad, sweet note, Gurgled from her straining throat, She enforced her piteous tale, Mournfiul prayer, and plaintive wail-; One while, with the shrill dispute Quite outwearied, she was mute; Then afresh, for her dear brood, Her harmonious shrieks renewed.

Now she winged it round and round; Now she skimmed along the ground; Now from bough to bough, in haste, The delighted robber chased, And, alighting in his path, Seemed to say,‘twixt grief and wrath, 424

Page 425 view page image

TO THE HUMIBLEBEE. “Give me back, fierce rustic rude, Give me back my pretty brood ” And I saw the rustic still Answered “That, I never will!”

ESTEVAN MANUELI DE VILLEGA.1. (S)panish.) translation of THOMAS RosCOE. TO

THE HUMBLEBEE. BURLY, dozing, humblebee! Where thou art is clime for me; Let them sail for Porto Rique, Far-off heats through seas to seek, I will follow thee alone, Thou animated torrid zone! I Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer, Let.me chase thy waving lines; Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, Singing over shrubs and vines. Flower-bells, Honeyed cells: These the tents Which he frequents. Insect lover of the sun, Joy of thy dominion!

Sailor of the atmosphere, Swimmer through the waves of air. 425

Page 426 view page image

p,

Page 427 view page image

TO THE HUMBLEBEE. Voyager of light and noon, Epicurean of June! Wait, I prithee, till I come Within ear-shot of thy hum; All without is martyrdom.

When the south wind, in May days, With a net of shining haze Silvers the horizon wall, And, with softness touching all, Tints the human countenance With a color of romance, And, infiusing subtile heats, Turns the sod to violets: Thou, in sunny solitudes, Rover of the underwoods, The green silence dost displace With thy mellow, breezy bass. Hot Midsummer’s petted crone! Sweet to me thy drowsy tone, Telling of countless sunny hours, Long days, and solid banks of flowers; Of gulfs of sweetness without bound, In Indian wildernesses found; Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, Firmest cheer, and birdlike pleasure. Aught unsavory or unclean Hath my insect never seen; 427

Page 428 view page image

TO THE HUMBLEBEE. But violets, and bilberry-bells, Maple sap, and daffodels, Clover, catchfly, adder’s-tongl(. And brier-roses, dwelt among: All beside was unknown waste, All was picture as he passed. Wiser far than human seer, Yellow-breeched philosopher! Seeing only what is fair, Sipping only what is sweet, Thou dost mock at fate and care, Leave the chaff and take the wheatt. When the fierce northwestern blast Cools sea and land so far and fast, Thou already slumberest deep; Woe and want thou canst outsleep; Want and woe, which torture us, Thy sleep makes ridiculous.

RALPH WALDO EMERSON E 428

Page 429 view page image

OF A’ THE MAIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW OF a’ the airts the wind can blaw I dearly like the west; For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo’e best. There wildwoods grow, and rivers row, And monie a hill between; But day and night my fancy’s flight Is ever wi’ my Jean. I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair; I hear her in the tunefui’ birds, I hear her charm the air; There’s not a bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green, There’s not a bonnie bird that sings, But minds me o’ my Jean. RoBERIT BJRNS. 429

Page 430 view page image

EVENING. SWEET after showers, ambrositl air, That rollest from the gorgeous gloom Of evening, over brake and bloom And meadow, slowly breathing bare The round of space, and rapt below, Through all the dewy-tasselled wood, 430

Page 431 view page image

T’HE RIVER-GOD TO AMORET. And shadowing down the horned flood In ipples-ifan my brows, and blow The fever from my cheek, and sigh The fuill new life that feeds thy breath Throughout my frame, till Doubt and Deatli, Ill brethren, let the fancy fly From belt to belt of crimson seas, On leagues of odor streaming far, To where, in yonder orient star, A hundred spirits whisper “Peace!” ALFRED T IENNYSON. THE RIVER-GOD TO AMORE’I’. I AM this fountain’s god. Below, My waters to a’river grow; And’twixt two banks, with osiers set, That only prosper in the wet, Through the meadows do they glide, Wheeling still on every sideSometimes winding round about, To find the evenest channel out. And if thou wilt go with me, Leaving mortal company, In the cool streams shalt thou lie, Free from harm as well as I. I will give thee, for thy food, No fish that useth in the mud; 431

.0

Page 432 view page image

THE RIVER-GOD TO AMORET But trout and pike, that love to swim Where the gravel, from the brim, Through the pure streams may be seen. Orient pearls, fit for a queen, Will I give, thy love to win, And a sliell to keep them in. Not a fish in all my brook That shall disobey thy look, But, when thou wilt, come sliding by, And from thy white hand take a fly. And to make thee understand How I can my waves command, They shall bubble whilst I sing, Sweeter than the silver string: THE SONG. Do not fear to put thy feet Naked in the river, sweet. Think not leechl, or newt, or toad, Will bite thy foot when thou hast trod. Nor let the water rising high, As thou wad’st in, make thee cry And sob; but ever live with me, And not a wave shall trouble thee! JOHN FLETc c:R. 432

Page 433 view page image

SUMMER LONGINGS. Las nianarias iloriia:4 De Abril y May)o. CALDE!RON. Au!

my heart is weary waiting, Waiting for the May, Waiting for the pleasant rambles, Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles. With the woodbine alternating, Scent the dewy way. Ah! my heart is weary waiting, Waiting for the May. Ah! my heart is sick with longing, Longing for the May, Longing to escape from study, To the young face fair and ruddy, And the thousand charms belonging To the Summer’s day. Ah! my heart is sick with longing, Longing for the May. Ah! my heart is sore with sighing, Sighing for the May, Sighing for their sure returning, When the summer beams are burning: 433

Page 434 view page image

SUMMER I,ONGINGS. Hopes and flowers that, dead or dying, All the Winter lay. Ah! my heart is sore with sighing, Sighing for the May. Ah! my heart is pained with throbbing Throbbing, for the May, Throbbing for the seaside billows, Or the water-wooing willows, Where, in laugliing and in sobbing, Glide the. streams away. Ah! my heart, my heart is throbbing, Throbbing for the May. Waiting sad, dejected, weary, Waiting for the May! Spring goes by with wasted warnings, Moonlit evenings, sunbright mornings Summer comes-yet dark and dreary Life still ebbs away. Man is ever weary, weary, Waiting for the May! DENIS FLORENCE MCCARTHY. 434

Page 435 view page image

LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. I ARISE from dreams of thlee In the first sweet sleep of iiight, When the winds are breathlling lovw, And the stars are slining briight. I arise firom dreams of thllee, And a sl)irit in my feet Has led me who knows llow? To thly cllamber window, sweet! Tlle wvandering airs, tlhey faint On thle dark and silelut stream; The chanmpiak odors fail Like sweet thlouglhts in a dreaii; The nig(ltiniale’s coml)lainlt, It dies ul)on lher hleart: As I must on tline, Beloved as tliou art! 435

Page 436 view page image

436 HOW THICK THE WILD FLOWERS BLOW ABOUT OUR FEET. 0, lift me from the grass! I die, I faint, I fail! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white, alas! My heart beats loud and fast; 0, press it close to thine again, Where it will break at last! PERCY

BYSSHEF SHELLEY. 4. H()W THICK THE WILD FLOWERS BLOW ABOUT OUR FEET. How thick the wild flowers blow about our feet, Thick strewn and unregarded, which, if rare, We should take note how beautiful they were, How delicately wrought; of scent how sweet. And mercies which on every path we meet, Whose very commonness should win more praise, Do for that very cause less wonder raise, And these with slighter thankfulness we greet. Yet pause thou often on life’s onward way, Pause time enough to stoop and gather one Of these sweet wild flowers-time enough to tell Its beauty over; this when thou hast done, And marked it duly, then if thou canst lay It wet with thankful tears into thy bosom, well! RICHARD CHEVENIX TRENCH.

Page 437 view page image

THE CAVE OF SILVER. SEEK me the cave of silver! Find me the cave of silver l Rifle the cave of silver! Said Ilda to Brok the Bold: So you may kiss me often; So you may ring my finger; So you may bind my true love In the round hoop of gold! Bring me no skins of foxes; Bring me no beds of eider; Boast not your fifty vessels That fish in the Northern Sea; For I would lie upon velvet, And sail in a golden galley, And nau,ght but the cave of silver Will win my true love for thee. Reena, the witch, hlath told me That up in the wild Lapp mountains There lieth a cave of silver, Down deep in a valley-side; So gather your lance and rifle, And speed to the purple pastures, And seek ye the cave of silver As you seek me for your bride.

437

Page 438 view page image

THE CAVE OF SILI,VER. I go, said Brok, right proudly; I go to the purple pastures, To seek for the cave of silver So long as my life shall hold; But when the keen Lapp arrows Are fleshed in the heart that loves you, I’ll leave my curse on the woman Who slaughtered Brok the Bold! But Ilda laughed as she shifted The Bergen scarf on her shoulder, And pointed her small white finger Right up at the mountain gate; And cried, O my gallant sailor, You’re brave enoulgh to the fishes, But the Lappisli arrow is keener Than the back of the thorny skate! The Summer passed, and the Winter Came down from the icy ocean: But back from the cave of silver Returned not Brok the Bold: And Ilda waited and waited, And sat at the door till sunset, And gazed at the wild Lapp mountains That blackened the skies of gold. I want not a cave of silver! I care for no cave of silver!

0 far beyond caves of silver I pine for my Brok the Bold! 1.38

Page 439 view page image

A DIRlEt(;. O ye strong Norwegian gallants, Go seek for my lovely lover, And bring him to ringi my finger With the round hoop of gold! But the brave Norwegian gallants They laughed at the cruel maiden, And left her sitting in sorrow, Till her heart and her face grew old; While she moaned of the cave of silver, And moaned of the wild Lapp mountains, And him who never will ring her With the round hoop of gold! Fi’rZ-JAMi.S O’BRIEN. A DIRGE CALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren, Since o’er shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole, To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm, And (when gay tombs are robbed) sustain no harm; But keep the wolf far thence, that’s foe to men, For with his nails he’ll dig them up again. JOHN WEBSTER. 439 t

Page 440 view page image

MY LIFE IS LIKE THE SUM.IMER ROSE. MY life is like the summer rose That opens to the morning sky, But, ere the shades of evening close, Is scattered on the ground-to die; Yet on the rose’s humble bed The sweetest dews of ni,ght are shle(. As if she wept the waste to see. But none shall weep a tear for me! My life is like the autumn leaf That trembles in the moon’s pale ray; Its hold is frail, its date is brief: Restless - and soon to pass away; Yet ere that leaf shall fall and fade The parent tree will mourn its shade. The winds bewail the leafless tree. But none shall breathe a sigh for me! My life is like the prints which feet Have left on Tampa’s desert strand: Soon as the rising tide shall beat, All trace will vanish from the sand; Yet, as if grieving to efface All vestige of the human race, On that lone shore loud moans the sea. But none, alas! shall mourn for me! RICIIARD HENRY WILDE. 440

Page 441 view page image

THE ORPHAN’S CIIRISTMAS-TREE. Ax orphan boy, with weary feet, On Christmas Eve, alone, benighted, Went through the town from street to street, To see the clustering candles lighted In homes where happy children meet. ~ - 

\‘1 I __ ml _ Before each house he stood, to mark The pleasant rooms that shone so fairly -I The tapers lighted, spark by spark, a==: -=^ Till all the trees were blazing rarely; And sad his heart was, in the dark. 41. -

F- ~- -

Page 442 view page image

TIITE ORP’IAN’S CHRISTMAIAS-TRIEE (I_ _ - .“i C, l I D’ IyA U fT

‘,-,-,.J7, He wept; he clasped his hands and cried: “Ah, every child to-night rejoices; Their Christmas presents all divide, Around their trees, with merry voices; But Christmias is to me denied. “Once with my sister, hand in hand, At home, how did my tree delight me! No other tapers shone so grand; Butt all forget me, none invite me, Here, lonely, in the strainger’s land. “Will no one let me in, to share The light, - to take some corner nigh it? In all these houses can’t they spare A spot where I may sit in quietA little seat among them thero? 442 ok;~~~~~,!,~ I’. ; -

Page 443 view page image

THE ORPHAN’S CHRISTMAS-TREE. “Will no one let me in to-night? I will not beg for gift or token; I only ask to see the sight And hear the thanks of others spoken, And that will be my own delight.” He knocked at every door and gate; He rapped at window-pane and shutter; But no one heard and bade him wait, Or came, the “Welcome in!” to utter: Their ears were dull to outer fate. Each father looked with eyes that smiled, Upon his happy children only: Their gifts the mother’s heart beguiled To think of them: none saw the lonely Forgotten boy, the orphan child. “0 Christ-child, holy, kind, and dear! I have no father and no mother, Nor friend save thee, to give me cheer. Be thou my help, there is none other, Since all forget me, wandering here!” The poor boy rubbed his hands so blue, His little hands, the frost made chilly; His tattered clothes he closer drew And crouched within a corner stilly, And prayed, and knew not what to do.

443

Page 444 view page image

THE ORPHAN’S CHRISTMAS-TREE. Then, suddenly, there shone a light; Along the street, approaching nearer Another child, in garments white, Spake as he came - and clearer, dearer, His voice made music in the night: “I am the Christ! have thou no fear! I was a child in my probation, And children unto me are near: I hear and heed thy supplication, Though all the rest forget thee here. “My saving Word to all I bear, And equally to each’tis given; I bring the promise of my care Here, in the street, beneath the heaven, As well as in the chambers there. “And here, poor boy, thy Christmas-tree Will I adorn, and so make glimmer Through all this open space, for thee, That those within shall twinkle dimmer, For bright as thine they cannot be!” The Christ-child with his shining hand Then pointed up, and lo! the lustres That sparkled there! He saw it stand, A tree, o’erhung with starry clusters On all its branches, wide and grand. :144

Page 445 view page image

THE ORPIHAN’S CHRISTMAS-TREE. So far and yet so near! the night Was blazing with the tapers’ splendor: What was the orphan boy’s delight, How beat his bosom warm and tender, To see his Christmas-tree so bright! It seemed to him a happy dreaim; Then, from the starry branches bending, The angels stooped, and through the gleam They lifted him to peace unending, They folded himi in love supreme. The orphan child is now at rest: No father’s care he needs, nor mother’s, Upon the Christ-child’s holy breast.

All that is here bestowed on others He there forgets, where all is best.

BAYARD TAYLOR, AFTER RUECKERT. 445

Page 446 view page image

BESIDE THE SEA. I. THEY walked beside the Summer sea, And watched the slowly dying sun; And ” 0,” she said, “come back to me I My love, my own, my only one!” But while he kissed her fears away The gentle waters kissed the shore, And, sadly wllispering, seemed to say “He‘11ll come no more!

he‘11ll come no more!” II. Alone beside the Autumn sea She watched the sombre death of day; And ” O,” she said, “remember me! And love me, darling, far away! A cold wind swept the watery gloom, And, darkly whispering oni the shore, Sighed out the secret of his doom,  “He’ll come no more! he’ll come no more!” III. In peace beside the Winter sea A white grave glimmers in the moon; And waves are fresh, and clouds are free, And shrill winds pipe a careless tune. One sleeps beneath the dark blue wave, And one upon the lonely shore But joined in love, beyond the grave, They part no more! they part no more! I WILLIAM WINTER. 446

Page 447 view page image

&TlJoj SO’,D olqq ptip lpliiq s-Ao.T.Trd1~ -K:, Ak ‘TTJ,TO,, (1K N.kollAd 4}f xr1J N’U1i AH}V1mNI

Page 448 view page image

448 WHEN SPARROWS BUILD, AND THE LEAVES BREAK FORTIH. For I know there is dawn in the far, far north, And a scarlet sun doth rise; Like a scarlet fleece the snow-field spreads, And the icy founts run free; And the bergs begin to bow their heads, And plunge and sail in the sea. 0, my lost love, and my own, own love, And my love that loved me so! Is there never a chink in the world above Where they listen for words from below? Nay, I spoke once, and I grieved thee sore; I remember all that I said; And now thou wilt hear me no more-no more Till the sea gives up her dead. Thou didst set thy foot on the ship, and sail To the ice-fields and the snow; Thou wert sad, for thy love did not avail, And the end I could not know. How could I tell I should love thee to-day, Whom that day I held not dear? How could I know I should love thee away When I did not love thee anear. We shall walk no more through the sodden plain With the faded bents o’erspread; We shall stand no more by the seething main While the dark wrack drives o’erhead; We shall part no more in the wind and rain, Where thy last farewell was said;

Page 449 view page image

FULFILMENT. But perhaps I shall meet thee and know thee again When the sea gives up her dead. JEAN INGELOW. FULFILMENT. WAKING in May, the peach-tree thought: “Idle and bare! and weaving naught! Here have I slept the winter through, I, with my Master’s work to do!” Started the buds. The blossoms came Till all the branches were aflame. She rocked the birds and wove the green, A busy tree as ever was seen - Busy and blithe. She drank the dew, She caught the sunbeams gliding through; She drew her wealth from sky and soil,. And rustled gayly in her toil. Now see the peach-tree’s drooping head, With all her fruit a-blushing red. Knowing her Master’s work is done, She meekly resteth in the sun. MARY ELIZABETH DODGE. 449 .0

Page 450 view page image

BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND. BLOW, blow, thou winter wind! Thou art not so unkind As man’s ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Ifetgh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly - A.fst friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. Then, heigh ho! the holly! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, Thou dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot; Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remembered not. Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly: 3fost friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. Then, heigh ho! the holly! This life is most jolly.

SHAKESPEARE. 450

Page 451 view page image

-‘HFE ROSE. Go, lovely rose! Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that’s young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die-that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee: How small a part of time they share That are so wondrous sweet and fair. EDMIUND WALLER 451

Page 452 view page image

A DEAD ROSE. 0 ROSE! who dares to name thee’? No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet. But barren and hard, and dry as stubble-wheat: Kept seven years in a drawer, thy titles shame thee. The breeze that used to blow thee Between the hedgerow thorns, and take away An odor up the lane, to last all day, If breathing now, unsweetened would forego thee. The sun that used to smite thee, And mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn, Till beam appeared to bloom and flower to burn, If shining now, with not a hue would light thee. The dew that used to wet thee, And, white first, grew incarnadined, because It lay upon thee where the crimson was, If dropping now, would darken where it met thee. The fly that lit upon thee To stretch the tendrils of its tiny feet Along the leaf’s pure edges after heat, If lighting now, would coldly overrun thee. 452

Page 453 view page image

THE TIGER. The bee that once did suck thee, And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive, And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive, If passing now, would blindly overlook thee. The heart doth recognize thee, Alone, alone!

The heart doth smell thee sweet, Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete, Though seeing now these changes that disguise thee. Yes, and the heart doth owe thee More love, dead rose, than to such roses bold As Julia wears at dances, smiling cold. Lie still upon this heart, which breaks below thee! ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. THE TIGER. TIGER, Tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Framed thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burned that fire within thine eyes? 453

Page 454 view page image

MY RIVER. On what wings dared he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? When thy heart began to beat, What dread hand formed thy dread feet? What the hammer, what the chain, Knit thy strength and forged thy brain? What the anvil? What dread grasp Dare thy deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears, Aud water’d heaven with their tears. Did He smile his work to see? Did He who made the lamb make thee?

WILLIAM BLAKE, MY RIVER. RIVER! my River, in the young sunshine! Oh, clasp afresh in thine embrace This longing, burning frame of mine, And kiss my breast, and kiss my face! 454 ._

Page 455 view page image

MY RIVER. So, there! - Ha, ha! - already in thine arms, I feel thy love, I shout, I shiver! But thou out-laughest loud a flouting song,, proud River; And now again my bosom warms. The droplets of the golden sunlight glide Over and off me, sparkling, as I swini Hithler and thither down thy mellow tide, Or loll amid its crypts with outstretched limib. I fling abroad mine arms, and lo! Thy wanton waves curl slyly round me But ere their loose chains have well bound me, Again they burst away, and let me go. O
sun-loved River! wherefore dost thou hlum, Hum, hum alway, thy strange, deep, mystic song Unto the rocks and strands?- for they are dumb, And answer nothing as thou flowest along. Why singest so, all hours of night and day? Ah, River! my best River! thou, I guess, art seeking Some land where souls have still the gift of speaking With Nature, in her own old, wondrous way. Lo! highest heaven looms far below me here; I see it in thy waters, as they roll So beautiful, so blue, so clear’T would seem, 0 River mine, to be thy very soul Ohi! could I hence dive down to such a sky, Might I but bathe my spirit in that glory, So far out-slhiinig all in ancient fairy story, 1 would, indeed, have joy to die. 453)

Page 456 view page image

MY RIVER. What, oll cold earth, is deep as thou? Is aught’ Love is as deep, Love only is as deep. Love lavisheth all; yet loseth, lacketh, naught. Like thee, too, Love can neither pause nor sleep. Roll on, thou loving River, then! Lift up Thy waves-those eyes, bright with a riotous laughiing! Thou makest me immortal. I am quaffing The wine of rapture from no earthly cup. At last thou bearest me, with soothing tone, Back to thy bank of rosy flowers: Thanks then, and fare thee well I-enjoy thy bliss alone; And through the year’s melodious hours Echo forever, from thy bosom broad, All glorious tales that sun and moon be telling; And woo down to their soundless fountain-dwelling The holy stars of God! EDUARD MOERIKE

(German). !‘ranslation of JAMES CLARENCXE MANGAN. 456

Page 457 view page image

SONG OF THE B1ROOi. I COME from haunts of coot and hern; I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. 457 ..Ie i -7 I I >

Page 458 view page image

SONG OF THE BROOK. By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges: By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges. Till last by Philip’s farm I flow, To join the brimming river; For men, may come and men may go, But I go on forever. I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles; I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. With many a curve my banks I fiet, By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. I wind about, and ill and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayling, 458

Page 459 view page image

SONG OF TIlE BROOK. And here and there a foamy flake Upon me, as I travel, With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel: And draw them all along, and flow To join the brimmingi river; For men may come amd men may go, But I go on forever. I steal by lawnis and grassy plots; I slide by hlazel covers; 459

Page 460 view page image

‘THE CALL. I mnove the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers. I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows. I make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows. I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses; I linger by my shingly bars; I loiter round my cresses. And out again I curve and flow, To join the brimming river; For’ men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. ALFRED TENNYSON THE

CALL. AWAKE thee, my lady-love, Wake thee and rise! The sun through the bower peeps Into thine eyes! Behold how the early lark Springs from the corn! Hark, hark! how the flower-bird Winds her wee horn! 460 A.

Page 461 view page image

THE SEA. The swallow’s glad shriek is heard All through the air; The stock-dove is murmuring, Loud as she dare. Apollo’s winged bugleman (cannot contain, But peals his loud trumpet-call Once and again! Then wake thee, my lady-love - Bird of my bower! The sweetest and sleepiest Bird at this hour! GEORGE DARLY THE SEA. TroUGH the night, through the night, In the saddest unrest, Wrapt in white, all in white, With her babe on her breast, Walks the mother so pale, Staring out on the gale Through the night! 461

Page 462 view page image

MIDSUMMER. Through the night, through the night, Where the sea lifts the wreck, Land in sight, close in sight! On the surf-flooded deck Stands the father so brave, Driving on to his grave Through the night! R, ICHARD

HENRY STODDARD. MIDSUIMMER. THE Summer floats on even wing, Nor sails more far, nor draws more near; Poised calm between the budding spring, And sweet decadence of the year. In shadowed fields the cattle stand, The dreaming river scarcely flows, The sky hangs cloudless o’er the land, And nothing comes and nothing goes. A pause of fullness set between The sowing and the reaping time; What is to be and what has been Joined each to each in perfect rhyme. 462 0

Page 463 view page image

DIRGE. So comes high noon’twixt morn and eve, So comes full tide’twixt ebb and flow, Or midnight’twixt the day we leave And that new day to which we go. Full, fruitful hours by growing won, A restful space’mid old and new; When all there was to do is done, And nothing yet there is to do. No days like these so deeply blest, That look nor backward nor before; Their large fulfilment, ample rest, Make life flow wider evermore. LOUISA BUSHNELL, DIRGE. IF thou wilt ease thine heart Of love, and all its smart - Then sleep, dear, sleep! And not a sorrow Hang any tear on your eyelashes. Lie still and deep, Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes The rim o’ the sun to-morrow, In eastern sky. 463 .

Page 464 view page image

DRIFTING. But wilt thou cure thine Of love, and all its smart Then die, dear, die! ‘T is deeper, sweeter, Than on a rose-bank to With folded eye; And then alone, amid th Of Love’s stars, thou’It m In eastern sky. THOMAS

LOVELL BFEDDOES. DRIFTING. MY soul to-day Is far away, Sailing the Vesuvian Bay; My winged boat, A bird afloat, Swims round the purple peaks remote: Round purple peaks It sails, and seeks Blue inlets and their crystal creeks, Where high rocks throw, Through deeps below, A duplicated golden glow. 464 lie dreaming 0

Page 465 view page image

DRIFTING. Far, vague, and dinm, The mountains swim; While on Vesuvius’

misty brim, With outstretched hands The gray smoke stands, O’erlooking the volcanic lands. Here Ischia smiles O’er liquid miles; And yonder, bluest of the isles. Calm Capri waits, Her sapphire gates Beguiling to her bright estates. I heed not if My rippling skiff Float swift or slow from With dreamfiul eyes My spirit lies Under the walls of Parad Under the walls Where swells and falls The bay’s deep breast at intervals. At peace I lie, Blown softly by, A cloud upon this liquid sky. The day, so mild, Is Heaven’s own child, With Earth and Ocean reconciled; 465 cliff to cliff

Page 466 view page image

DRIFTING. The ails I feel Around me steal Are murmuring to the murmuring keel. Over the rail My hand I trail Within the shadow of the sail: A joy ilntense, Tlle cooling, sense Glides down miy drowsy indolence. With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Where Suimmer singcrs and never dies; O’erveiled with vines, She glows and shines Among her future oil and wines. Her children, hid The cliffs amiid, Are gambolling, with the Or down tlhe walls, Witlh tipsy calls, l,augli on tlhe rocks like Th-e fisher’s clild, Withi tresses wild, Unto the smoothl, bright Witli glowing, lips Sing,s as sihe skips, Or gazes at the far-off sh 466
gambolling ki(I; .,and beguiled,

Page 467 view page image

D)RIFTING. Yon deep bark goes Where Traffic blows, From lands of sun to lands of snows; This happier one, Its course is run - From lands of snow to lands of sun. 0 happy ship, To rise and dip, With the blue crystal at your lip I 0 happy crew, My heart with you Sails, and sails, and sings anew! No Ilore. no more The worldly shore Upbraids me with its loud uproar! With dreamf’ui eyes My spirit lies Under the walls of Paradise!

THOMAS BUCHANAN READ 467

Page 468 view page image

THE MINSTREL’S SONG IN ELLA. I, SING unto my roundelay I 0, drop the b)riny tear with nie! Dance no more at holiday: Like a running river be!

Mt love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow tree. Black his hair as the winter night, White his neck as the summer snow, Ruddy his face as the morning light; Cold he lies in the grave below. Sweet his tongue as the throstle’s note; Quick in dance as thought can be: Deft his tabor, cudgel stote. O! he lies by the willow tree. Hark! the raven flaps his wing, In the briered dell below; Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing To the nightmares as they go. 468

Page 469 view page image

THE MINSTREL’S SONG IN ELLA. See! the white moon shines on high I Whiter is my true-love’s shroud  Whiter than the morning sky, Whiter than the evening cloud. Here, upon my true-love’s grave, Shall the gairish flowers be laid: Nor one holy saint to save All the sorrows of a malctd. With my hands I’ll bind the briers, Round his holy corse to gre; Elf and fairy, light your fires! Here my body still shall be. Come, with acorn-cup and thorn! Drain my heart’s blood all away! Life and all its good I scorn: Dance by night, or feast by day! My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under tlhe willow tree. Water-itches, crowned with reytes, Bear me to your deadly tide! I die! - I come I My true-love waits! TI ius the damsel spake -and died. THOMAS, CHATTERTON. 469

Page 470 view page image

QUA CURSUM VENTUS. As ships becalmed at eve, that lay With canvas drooping, side by side, a’wo towers of sail, at dawn of day Are scarce long leagues apart descried Whlei fell the nilght, Lup-slprulg tile breezd, And all the darkling hours they plied; Nor dreamt but each the selfsame seas By each was cleavinig, side by side: 470

Page 471 view page image

QUA CURSUM VENTUS. E’en so -but why the tale reveal Of those whom, year by year unchanged, Brief absence joined anlew, to feel, Astounded, soul from soul estranged? At dead of night their sails were filled, And onward each rejoicing steered; Ah! neither blame, for neither willed Or wist what first with dawn appeared. To veer, how vain! On, onward strain, Brave barks!- in lilght, in darkness too! Through winds and tides one conlmpass guides: To that and your own selves be true. But 0 blithe breeze! and 0
great seas! Though ne’er that earliest parting past, On your wide plain they join again; Together lead them home at last. One port, methought, alike they souglit One purpose hold where’er they fare; O bounding breeze, 0 rushlling seas, At last, at last, unite them there! ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.

4‘1 1

Page 472 view page image

AS I LAY A-THINKING. As I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinkings Merry sang the Bird as she sat upon the spi’aVy: There came a noble Knight With his hauberk shining bright, And his gallant heart was light Free and gay; And as I lay a-thinking, he rode upon his waay. As I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking, Sadly sang the Bird as she sat upon the tree: There seemed a crimson plain, Where a gallant Knight lay slain, And a steed with broken rein Ran free: As I lay a-thinking - most pitiful to see’ As I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking, Merry sang the Bird as she sat upon the bough: A lovely Maid came by, And a gentle Youth was nigh, And he breathed many a sigh, And a vow; As I lay a-thinking her heart was gladsome now. As I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking, Sadly sang the Bird as she sat upon the thorn: No more a Youth was there, But a Maiden rent her hair, 472

Page 473 view page image

AS I LAY A-THINKING. And cried in sad despair, “That I was born!” As I lay a-thinking, she perished forlorn. As I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking, Sweetly sang the Bird as she sat upon the brier: There came a lovely Child, And his face was meek and mild, Yet joyously he smiled On his sire: As I lay a-thinking -a cherub might admire. But as I lay a-thinking, a-thinking, a-thinking, And sadly sang the Bird as it perched upon a bier, That joyous smile was gone, And the face was white and wan, As the down upon the swan Doth appear: As I lay a-thinking, oh! bitter flowed the tear! As I lay a-thinking, the golden sun was sinking Oh! merry sang that Bird as it glittered on her breast With a thousand gorgeous dyes, While, soaring to the skies, ‘Mid the stars she seemed to rise, As to her nest. As I lay a-thinking, her meaning was exprest: “Follow, follow me away! It boots not to delay:” (‘T was so she seemed to say) “Here is rest!” RICHA1RD HARRIS BAalHAM. 473

Page 474 view page image

TO CYNTHIA. QurUEEN and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess excellently bright! Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Cynthllia’s shining orb was made heaven to clear when day did close: Bless us, then, with wished sight, Goddess excellently bright I Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal-shining quiver; Give unto thy flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever: Thou that makest a day of night, Goddess excellently bright! BEN JONxSON. 474

Page 475 view page image

SO THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET. GREEN little vaulter in the sunny grass, Catching your heart up at the feel of June! Sole voice that’s heard amidst the lazy noon, Wllen even the bees lag at the summoning brass! And you, warm little housekeeper, who class With those who think the candles come too sooin, Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune Nick the glad silent moments as they pass! O sweet and tiny cousins! that belong, One to the fields, the other to the hearth! Both have your sunshine; both, though small, are strong At your clear hearts; and both seem given to earthl To sing in thoughtful ears this natural songIn doors and out, summer and winter, mirth! I,IGII IIUNT. PASSING THE ICEBERGS. A FEARLESS shape of brave device, Our vessel drives through mnist and rail, Between the floating fleets of ice The navies of the northern main. 475

Page 476 view page image

PASSING THE ICEBERGS. These Arctic ventures, blindly hurled, The proofs of Nature’s olden force, Like fragments of a crystal world Long shattered from its skyey course - These are the buccaneers that fright The middle sea with dream of wrecks, And freeze the south winds in their flight, And chain the Gulf-stream to their decks. At every dragon prow and helm There stands some Viking, as of yore: Grim heroes from the boreal realm Where Odin rules the spectral shore. And oft beneath the sun or moon Their swift and eager falchions glow, While, like a storm-vexed wind, the rune Comes chafing through some beard of snow. And when the far North flashes up, With fires of mingled red and gold, They know that many a blazing cup Is brimming to the absent bold. Up signal there! and let us hail Yon looming phantom as we pass! Note all her fashion, hull and sail, Within the compass of your glass. 476

Page 477 view page image

PASSING THE ICEBERGS. See at her mast the steadfast glow Of that one star of Odin’s throne: Jp with our flag! and let us show The constellation on our own. And( speak her well; for she might say. If from her heart the words could thaw, Great news from some far frozen bay, Or the remotest Esquimaux: Might tell of channels yet untold, That sweep the pole fromi sea to sea; 477

Page 478 view page image

PASSING THE ICEBERGS. Of lands which God designs to hold A mighty people yet to be; Of wonders which alone prevail Where day and darkness dimly mneet; Of all which spreads the Arctic sail; Of Franklin, and his venturous fleet: How, haply, at somlle glorious goal His anchor holds, his sails are furled; That Fame has named him on her scroll “Columbus of the Polar world!” Or how his ploughing barks wedge on Through splintering fields, with battered shares. Lit only by that spectral dawn, Tile mask that mocking darkness wears; Or how, o’er embers black and few, The last of shivered masts and spars, He sits amid his frozen crew, In council with the norland stars. No answer - but the sullen flow Of ocean, heaving long and vast; An argosy of ice and snow, The voiceless North swings proudly past. THOMAS BUcHANAN READ 478

Page 479 view page image

THE ANGLER’S WAVISII. I IN these flowery meads would be: These crystal streams shloul,l solace me, To whose harmonious, bubbli(ng noise I with my angle would rejoice Sit here and see the turtled(love Court his chaste mate to acts of love. Or on that bank, feel the west wiind Breathe health and plenty; please,ny mind 479 II

Page 480 view page image

TO THE NIGHTINGALE. To see sweet dew-drops kiss these flowers, And then washed off by April showers; Here hear my Kenna sing a song, There see a blackbird feed her young, Or a leverock build her nest; Here give my weary spirits rest, And raise my low-pitched thloughts above Earth, or what poor mortals love: Thus, free from lawsuits, and the inoise Of princes’ courts, I would rejoice. Or, with my Bryan and a book, ]Loiter long days near Shawford brook. There sit by him, and eat mny mneat; There see the sun both rise and set; There bid good Imorning to next day; There meditate my time away; And angle on; and beg to have A quiet passage to a welcome grave. ISAAK WALTON TO THE NIGHTINGALE. O NIGHTINGAE, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still’ Thou with fresh hope the lover’s heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.

480 0

Page 481 view page image

THE DWINA. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, First heard before the shallow cuckoo’s bill, Portend success in love. 0, if Jove’s will Have linked that amorous power to thy soft Jay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hlate Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh; As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why.

Whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I. JOIIN MILTON. THE DWINA. STONY-BROWEID Dwina, thy face is as flint! Horsemen and wagons cross, scoring no dint; Cossacks patrol thee, and leave thee as hard; Camp-fires but blacken and spot thee, like pard, For the dead, silent river lies rigid and still. Down on thy sedgy banks picket the troops, Scaring the night-wolves with carols and whoops; Crackle their fagots of drift-wood and hay, And the steam of their pots fills the nostrils of day; But the dead, silent river lies rigid and still. Sledges pass sliding from hamlet to town: Lovers and comrades -and none doth he drown I 468k 0

Page 482 view page image

THE DWVINA. Harness-bells tinkling in musical glee, For to none comes the sorrow that came unto me, And the dead, silent river lies rigid and still.

I go to the Dwina; I stand on his wave, Where Ivan, my dead, has no grass on his grave: Stronger than granite that coffins a Czar, Solid as pavement, and polished as spar Where the dead, silent river lies rigid and(I still. Stronger than granite? Nay, falser than sand! Fatal the clasp of thy slippery hand; Cruel as v\ulture’s the clutch of thy claws; Who shall redeem from the merciless jaws Of the dead, silent river, so rigid and still? Crisp lay the new-fallen snow on thy breast, Trembled the white moon through haze in the west: Far in the thicket the wolf-cub was howling, Down by the sheep-cotes the wolf-dam was prowling; And the dead, silent river lay rigid and still: When Ivan, my lover, my husband, my lord, Lightly and cheerily stept on the sward Light with his hopes of the morrow and me, That the reeds on the marg,in leaned after to see; But the dead, silent river lay rigid and still. O’er the fresh snow-fall, the winter-long frost, O’er the broad Dwina the forester crost: -tR2

Page 483 view page image

THE DWINA. Snares at his girdle, and gun at his side, Game-bag weighed heavy with gifts for his bride; And the dead, silent river lay rigid and still Rigidl and silent, and crouching for prey, Crouching for him who went singing his wsay. Oxen were stabled, and sheep were in fold; But Ivan was struggling in torrents ice-cold, ‘Neath the dead, silent river, so rigid all(l still. HIome he came never. We searched by the foid-: Small was the fissure that swallowed my lord; Glassy ice-sheetings had frozen aboveA crystalline cover to seal up my love, In the dead, silent river, so rigid and still. Still by the Dwina my home-torches burn; Faithful I watch for my bridegroom’s return. When the moon sparkles on hoar-frost and tree, I see my love crossing the Dwina to me, O’er the dead, silent river, so rigid and still. Always approaching, hle never arrives. Howls the northeast wind, the dusty snow drives. Snapping like touchwood, I hear the ice crackAnd mny lover is drowned in the water-hole black, ‘Neath the dead, silent river, so rigid and still. COUNTESS 9ORLOFF. (Russian.) Translaition of MRS. O(:Gl1’V[E. ‘18.3

Page 484 view page image

WHERE is the grave of Sir Arthur O’Kellyn? Where may the grave of that good man be? By the side of a spring on the breast of Helvellyn, Under the twigs of a young birch-tree. The oak that in summer was sweet to hear, And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year, And whistled and roared in the winter alone, Is gone, and the birch in its stead has grown. 484 i; THE

KNIGHT’S TOMB11

Page 485 view page image

KULNASATZ, MY REINDEER. The knight’s bones are dust, And his good sword rust; His soul is with the saints, I trust. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

KULNASATZ, MY REINDEER. KULNASATZ, my reindeer, We have a long journey to go; The moors are vast, And we must haste, Our strength, I fear, WVill fail if we are slow: And so Our songs will, too. Kaig\, the watery moo) Is pleasant unto me, Though long it be, Since it doth to my mistress lea(i Whom I adore; The Kilwa mnoor I ne’er again will tread. Thoughts filled my mind, Whilst I through Kaige passed Swift as the wind, 485 A.

Page 486 view page image

THE ROSEBUD. And my desire Winged with impatient fire: My reindeer, let us haste! So shall we quickly end our pleasing pain - Behold my mistress there, With decent motion walking o’er the plain! Kulnasatz, my reindeer, Look yonder! where She washes in the lake! See! while she swims, The water from her purer limbs New clearness take! ANONYMOUS. (Icelandic.) Anonymous Translation. THE ROSEBUD. WHEN Nature tries her finest touch, Weaving her vernal wreath, Mark ye how close she veils her round, Not to be traced by sight or sound, Nor soiled by ruder breath? Who ever saw the earliest rose First open her sweet breast? Or, when the summer sun goes down, The first soft star in evening’s crown Light up her gleaming crest? 486

Page 487 view page image

THE ROSEBUD. Fondly we seek the dawning bloom On features wan and fair: Tile gazing eye no change can trace; But look away a little space Then turn -and lo!‘t is there. But there’s a sweeter flower than e’er Blushed on the rosy spray, A brighter star, a richer blloom, Than e’er did western heaven illume At close of summer day. ‘T is love, the last best gift of Heaven Love, gentle, holy, pure! But, tenderer than a dove’s soft eye, The searching sun, the open sky, She never could endure. Even human love will shrink from sight, Here in the coarse rude earth: How then should rash intruding glance Break in upon her sacred trance Who boasts a heavenly birth? So still and secret is her growth, Ever the truest heart, Where deepest strikes her kindly root, For hope or joy, for flower or fruit, Least knows its happy part. 487

Page 488 view page image

THE ROSEBUD. God only, and good angels, look Behind the blissful screenAs when, triumphant o’er His woes, The Son of God by moonlight rose, By all but heaven unseen: As when the holy Maid beheld Her risen Son and Lord; Thought hath not colors half so fair That she to paint that hour may dare, In silence best adored. The gracious Dove, that brought from heaven The earnest of our bliss, Of many a chosen witness telling, On many a happy vision dwelling, Sings not a note of this. So, truest image of the Christ, Old Israel’s long-lost son, What time, with sweet forgiving cheei, He called his conscious brethren near, Would weep with them alone: He could not trust his melting soul But in his Maker’s sight; Then why should gentle hearts and tru(s Bare to the rude world’s withering view Their treasure of delight. 488

Page 489 view page image

SONG. No! let the dainty rose awhile Her bashful fragrance hide; Rend not her silken veil too soon, Bul leave her in her own soft noon To flourish and abide. JOHN KEBLE. SONG. TRICKLES fast the April shower, Like the maiden’s tear, In the tardy trysting hour, And no lover near. Joy, be sure, will soon return; See, out-shines the sun! Earth will bloom and cheeks will burn With blushes many a one. Heaven will bless the happy glow, So the heart be true: Sun and shower may flit and flow, Love will shine all through. THE A b”J’L’GLOW. 489 0

Page 490 view page image

BOATMAN’S HYMN. BARK, that bears me through foam and squall, You in the storm are my castle-wall! Though the sea should redden from bottom to to0), From tiller to mast she takes no drop. On the tide top, the tide top Wherry aroon, my land and store! On the tide top, the tide top, She is the boat can sail galore! She dresses herself, and goes gliding on, Like a damne in her robes of the Indian lawi; For God has blessed her, gunnel and waleAnct 0! if you saw her stretch out to the gale, On the tide top, the tide top Wherry aroon, my land and store! On the tide top, the tide top, She is the boat can sail galore! Whillan ahoy! -Old heart of stone, Stooping so black o’er the beach alone, Aniiswei me well: on the bursting brine Saw you ever a bark like mine, Ort the tide top, the tide top?

Wherry aroon, my land and store! On the tide top, the tide top, She is the boat ean sa;l galore! 490

Page 491 view page image

BOATMAN’S tIYMN. SAYS Whillan, Since first I was made of stone, I have looked abroad o’er the beach alone; But, till to-day, on the bursting brine, Saw I never a bark like thine! On the tide top, the tide top -

Wherry aroon, ny cland and store. On the tide top, the tide top, She is the )oat can sail qcalore. God of the air! the seamen shout, When they see us tossing the brine about, 491

Page 492 view page image

UP-HILL. Give us the shelter of strand or rock, Or thlrough and through us she goes with a shock! On the tide top, the tide top TVigerry aroon, mry land and store! On the tide top, the tide top, She is the boat can sail galore! ANON YAIOUS. (Irish.) Translation of SAMUEL FERGUSON. UP-IIILL.

DOES the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end. Will the day’s journey take the whole long day? From morn to ni,ght, my friend.

lt9,2

Page 493 view page image

IF ALL WERE RAIN AND NEVER SUN. But is there for the night a resting-place? A roof for when the slow dark hours begin? May not the darkness hide it from my face? You cannot miss that inn. Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? Those who have gone before. Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? Of labor you shall find the sum. Will there be beds for me and all who seek? Yea, beds for all who come. CHRISTINA G. ROSSFTTI. IF ALL WERE RAIN AND NEVER SUN. IF all were rain and never sun No bow could span the hill; If all were sun and never rain, There’d be no rainbow still. CHRISTINA G. ROSETTI. 493

Page 494 view page image

~ W\AVKIE, LADY! UP! quit thy bower! late wears the hour, Ilong have the rooks cawed round the tower; O’er flower and tree loud hums the bee, And the wild kid sports merrily. The sun is brilght, the sky is clear Wake, lady, wake! and hasten here. Up! maiden fair, and bind thy hair. And rouse thee in the breezy alr’ 494

Page 495 view page image

THE MERRY LARK WAS UP AND SINGING. The lulling stream that soothed thy dream Is dancing in the sunny beam. Waste not these hours, so fresh, so gay: Leave thv soft couch, and haste away! Up! Time will tell the morning bell Its service-sound has chimed well; The aged crone keeps house alone, The reapers to the fields are gone. Lose not these hours, so cool, so gay: Lo! while thou sleep’st they haste away! JOANNA BAIl,I F. THE MERRY LARK

WAS UP AND SINGING. THE merry, merry lark was up and singing, And the hare was out and feeding on the lea, And the merry, merry bells below were ringing, When nmy child’s laugh rang through me. Now the hare is snared, and dead beside the snow-yai(d. And the lark beside the dreary winter sea, And my baby in his cradle in the churchyard Waiteth there until the bells bring me. CIIARLEs KINGSLEY. 495

Page 496 view page image

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERULS. IT was the schooner Hesperus That sailed the wintry sea,; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company. Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds That ope in the month of May. The skipper he stood beside the helm: His pipe was in his mouth; And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke-now west, now south.

Then up and spake an old sailor, Had sailed the Spanish main: ” I pray thee, put into yonder port; For I fear a hurricane. ” f,ast nigoht the moon had a golden ring, And to-night no moon we see!” The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe. And a scornful laugh laughed he. 496

Page 497 view page image

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the northeast; The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed: Then leaped her cable’s length. ” Come hither, come hither! my little daughlter, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow.” ie wrapped her warm in his seaman’s coat, Against the stinging blast; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. ” O
father, I hear the church-bells ring! O say what may it be?” “‘Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!” And he steered for the open sea. ” O
father, I hear the sound of guns! O say what may it be?” ” Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea!” 497

Page 498 view page image

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. ” O father, I see a gleaming light I O say what may it be?” But the father answered never a word: A firozen corpse was he.

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, With his face turned to the skies, Tlie lantern gleamed through the gleaming sleow’ On his fixed and glassy eyes. Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed, That saved she might be; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wav-e On the Lake of Galilee. And fast through the midnight dark and drear, Throug,li the whistling sleet and snow, I,ike a sheeted ghost the vessel swept, Towards the reef of Norman’s Woe. And ever, the fitful gusts between, A sound came fiom the land; It was the sound of the trampling surf On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. The breakers were right beneath her bows: She drifted a dreary wreck; And a whooping billow swept the crew, Like icicles, from her deck. 498

Page 499 view page image

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool; Btut the cruel rocks, they gored her side Like the horns of an angry bull. Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, With the masts went by the board; Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank: Ho! ho! the breakers roared! At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair, Lashed close to a drifting mast. The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes; And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, On the billows fall and rise. Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow. Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman’s Woe! HENRY WADSWORTII LON.GF’.LLOW 499

Page 500 view page image

~ HE snow lies fresh on Chester Hill To take red Reynard’s fet-locks fair.

His scent is sure, for the wind is still Above the Delaware’s frozen glare;i Bring out yer fox-hloun’s, Jasper Gill, An’ let’em snuff the mornin’ air! So thundered at the cabin door Of grizzly Jasper in the glen, ‘he keenest shot on Homen’s shore, Known miles around as Bearskin Ben\Vhose weather-beaten visage bore The tracks of fifty years and ten. i Untie the brave old houn’ whose voi(e( Bays mellower than a meetin’ bell; Loose silk-ear’d Fan for me, my choice ‘Mong all the dogs in Beaver Dell;  500 I,I .9’ V

Page 501 view page image

TIHE FOX-HUNTERS. They’re a pair to make the heart rejoice An’ bound like a buck when hunted well!” Gray Jasper hears his comrade call, And, whistling to his eager pack, Down snatches from the cabin-wall His rifle, hung on stag-horn rack; Bids wife farewell till twilight-fall, And strides away on the red-fox track. O’er mountain-crest,‘cross lowland vale, Where Hero hotly leads the chase, These bluff old woodsmen press the trail, Close Indian-file, with tireless paceTill, hark! the fox-hound’s deep-toned hail Proclaims the game on th homne-stretcll race. Athwart the brow of Chester Hill Scared Reynard, like a blazing sun, Flies on before his foes until, O’erleaping rock and ice-bound run, He draws the aim of Jasper Gill Along the barrel of his gun. The ledges ring to the rifle’s crack! The fatal bullet whistles past! A loud “halloo” comes echoing back To Bearskin Ben, on the rising blast: A crimson stream bedyes the track; And Reynard strikes his flag at last! 501

Page 502 view page image

THE FOX-HUNTERS. (Call in the dogs!” cries Jasper Gill; “The sport is done, the chase is o’er; - I’ve gi’n yon tlievin’ skulk a pill! Hle’ll rob my poultry-yard no mnore. Come, Ben, let’s beat to the cabin sill, Where the old wife waits us at the door.” Beside a roaring hickory blaze, With laugh and joke and rustic cheer, These glib-tongued cronies sound the praise Of dog and gun in Molly’s ear, Till the old dame’s needle almost plays A tune through her good man’s hunting-gear. G. H. BARNES. 502

Page 503 view page image

THE LOVER TO THE GLOW-WORMS. YE living lamps, by whose dear light The nightingale does sit so late, And, studying all the summer night, Her matchless songs does meditate! Ye country comets, that portend No war, nor prince’s funeralShining unto no other end Than to presage the grass’s fall! Ye glow-worms, whose officious flame To wandering mowers shows the way, That in the night have lost their aim And after foolish fires do stray! Your courteous lights in vain you waste, Since Juliana here is come; For she my mind hath so displaced, That I shall never find my home.

_-~ ANDREW IMAR N:XI.1. THE WEE GREEN NEUK. () THE wee green neuk, the sly green neuk, The wee sly neuk for me! Whare the wheat is wavin’ bright and browii And the wind is fresh and free: 503 Y.

Page 504 view page image

THE WVEE GREEN NEUK. WVhiare I weave wild weeds, and out o’ reeds Kerve whissles as I lay, And a douce low voice is murmurin’ by, Through the lee-lang simmer day! And whare a’ things luik as though they lo’ed To languish in the sun, And that if they feed the fire they dree They wadna ae pang were gone; Whare the lift aboon is still as death, And bright as life can be; While the douce low voice says Na, na, na! But ye mauna luik sae at me! Whare the lang rank bent is saft and cule, And freshenin’ till the feet; And the spot is sly, and the spinnie high, Whare my luve and I mak seat; And I tease her till she rins, and then I catch her roun’ the tree, While the poppies shak’ their heids and blusli: Let’em blush till they drap, for me! 0 the wee green neuk, the sly green neuk, The wee sly neuk for me! Whare the wheat is wavin’ bright and brown, Avd the wind is fresh and free! PHILIP JAMES BAILEY. 004

Page 505 view page image

or I I 4k a Is

Page 506 view page image

A VIOLET. GOD does not send us strange flowers every year. When the spring winds blow o’er the pleasant places, The same dear things lift up the same fair faces. The violet is here. It all comes back: the odor, grace, and hue; Each sweet relation of its life repeated: No blank is left, no looking-for is cheated; It is the thing we knew. So after the death-winter it must be. God will not put strange signs in the heavenly places: The old love shall look out from the old faces. Veilchen! I shall have thee!

ADELINE D. T. WHITNEY THE SONGSTER. A MIDSUMMER CAROL. 1. WITHIN our summer hermitage I have an aviary,‘Tis but a little, rustic cage, That holds a golden-winged Canary: A bird with no companion of his kind. But when the warm south wind 506

Page 507 view page image

THE SONGSTER. Blows, from rathe meadows, over The honey-scented clover, I hang him in the porch, that he may hear The voices of the bobolink and thrush, The robin’s joyous gush, The bluebird’s warble, and the tunes of all Glad matin songsters in the fields anear. Then, as the blithe responses vary, And rise anew, and fall, In every hush He answers them again, With his own wild, reliant strain, As if he breathed the air of sweet Canary. II. Bird, bird of the golden wing, Thou lithe, melodious thing! Where hast thy music found? What fantasies of vale and vine, Of glades where orchids intertwine, Of palm-trees, garlanded and crowned, And forests flooded deep with sound What high imagining Hath made this carol thine? By what instinct art thou bound To all rare harmonies that be In those green islands of the sea, Where thy radiant, wildwood kin Their madrigals at morn begin, 507

Page 508 view page image

THE SONGSTER. Above the rainbow and the roar Of the long billow from the Afric shore? Asking other guerdon None, than Heaven’s light, Holding thy crested head aright, Thy melody’s sweet burden Thou dost proudly utter, With many an ecstatic flutter And ruffle of thy tawny throat For each delicious note. - Art thou a waif from Paradise, In some fine moment wrought B v an artist of the skies, Thou winged, cherubic Thought? Bird of the amber beak, Bird of the golden wing! Thy dower is thy carolling; Thou hast not far to seek Thy bread, nor needest wine To make thine utterance divine; Thou art canopied and clothed And unto Song betrothed! In thy lone ae6rial cage Thou hast thine ancient heritage; There is no task-work on thee laid But to rehearse the ditties thou hast made; Thou hast a lordly store, And, though thou scatterest them free, Art richer than before, Holding in fee The glad domain of minstrelsy. 508

Page 509 view page image

THE SONGSTER. Im. Brave songster, bold Canary! Thou art not of thy listeners wary, Art not timorous, nor chary Of quaver, trill, and tone, Each perfect and thine own; But renewest, shrill or soft, Thy greeting to the upper skies, Chanting thy latest song aloft With no tremor nor disguise. Thine is a music that defies The envious rival near; Thou hast no fear Of the day’s vogue, the scornful critic’s sneer. Would, O wisest bard, that no I could cheerly sing as thou! Would I might chant the thoughts For the very joy of song! Here, on the written page, I falter, yearning to impart The vague and wandering murmur Haply a little to assuage This human restlessness and pain, And half forget my chain: Thou, unconscious of thy cage, Showerest music everywhere; Thou hast no care But to pour out the largesse thou t From the south wind and the sun: I 509
which on me throng, of my heart,

Page 510 view page image

SONG. There are no prison-bars Betwixt thy tricksy spirit and the stars.

When from its delicate clay Thy little life shall pass away, Thou wilt not meanly die, Nor voiceless yield to silence and decay; But triumph still in art And act thy minstrel-part, Lifting a last, long paean To the unventured empyrean. - So bid the world go by, And they who list to thee aright, Seeing thee fold thy wings and fall, shall say: “The Songster perished of his own delight! ” EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. SONG. COME with the birds in the spring, Thou whose voice rivalleth theirs; Come with the flowers, and bring Sweet shame to their bloom unawares: Come, -but 0, how can I wait! Come through the snows of to-day! Come, and the gray Earth elate Shall leap for thy sake into May! HARRIET McEWEN KIMBALL 510 .0

Page 511 view page image

THE BAREFOOT BOY. BLESSINGS on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan I With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes; With thy red lip, redder still 51t

Page 512 view page image

THE BAREFOOT BOY Kissed by strawberries on the hill With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim’s jaunty grace 1 From my heart I give thee joy: I was once a barefoot boy. Prince thou art-the grown-up mall Only is republican. Let the million-dollared ride! Barefoot, trudging at his side, Thou hast more than he can buy, In the reach of ear and eye: Outward sunshine, inward joy. Blessings on thee, barefoot boy! O! for boyhood’s painless play, Sleep that wakes in laughing day, Health that mocks the doctor’s rules, Knowledge never learned of schools: Of the wild bee’s morning chase, Of the wild flower’s time and place, Flight of fowl, and habitude Of the tenants of the wood; How the tortoise bears his shell, How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the ground-mole sinks his well; How the robin feeds her young, How the oriole’s nest is hung Where the whitest lilies blow, Where the freshest berries grow, Where the ground-nut trails its vine, Where the wood-grape’s clusters shine; 512

Page 513 view page image

THE BAREFOOT BOY. Of the black wasp’s cunning way, Mason of his walls of clay, And the architectural plans Of gray hornet artisans! For, eschewing books and tasks, Nature answers all he asks; Hand in hand with her he walks. Face to face with her he talks, Part and parcel of her joy.

Blessings on the barefoot boy! O for boyhood’s time of June, Crowding years in one brief moon, When all things I heard or saw, Me, their master, waited for! I was rich in flowers and trees, Humming-birds and honey-bees; For my sport the squirrel played, Plied the snouted mole his spade; For my taste the blackberry cone Purpled over hedge and stone; Laughed the brook for my delight, Through the day and through the night: Whispering at the garden wall, Talked with me from fall to fall; Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, Mine the walnut slopes beyond, Mine, on bending orchard trees, Apples of Hesperides! Still, as my horizon grew, Larger grew my riches too. 513 4b

Page 514 view page image

THE BAREFOOT BOY. All the world I saw or knew Seemed a complex Chinese toy, Fashioned for a barefoot boy! 0, for festal dainties spread, Like my bowl of milk and bread, Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, On the door-stone, gray and rude! O’er me, like a regal tent, Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent: Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, Looped in many a wind-swung fold; While, for music, came the play Of the pied frogs’ orchestra; And, to light the noisy choir, Lit the fly his lamp of fire. I was monarch; pomp and joy Waited on the barefoot boy! Cheerily, then, my little man! Live and laugh as boyhood can; Though the flinty slopes be hard, Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, Every morn shall lead thee through Fresh baptisms of the dew; Every evening from thy feet Shall the cool wind kiss the heat; All too soon these feet must hide In the prison-cells of pride, Lose the freedom of the sod, Like a colt’s for work be shod, 514 a

Page 515 view page image

THE RAILWAY RIDE. Made to tread the mills of toil, Up and down in ceaseless moil: Happy if their track be found Never on forbidden ground; Happy if they sink not in Quick and treacherous sands of sin. Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy, Ere it passes, barefoot boy! JOHN GREENLEAF

WHITTIER. THE RAILWAY RIDE. IN their yachts on ocean gliding, On their steeds Arabian riding, Whirled o’er snows on tinkling sledges, Men forget their woe and pain; What the pleasure then should fill them - What the ecstasy should thrill them - Borne with ponderous speed, and thunderous.

O’er the narrow iron plain. Restless as a dream of vengeance, Mark you there the iron engines Blowing steam from snorting nostrils, Moving each upon its track; Sighing, panting, anxious, eager, Not with purpose mean or meagre, But intense intent for motion, For the liberty they lack. 51.5 f

Page 516 view page image

TiHE RAILWAY RIDE. Now one screams in triumph, for the Engine-driver, grimned and swarthy, Lays his hand upon the lever, And the steed is loose once more; Off it moves, and fast and faster, With no urging from the master, Till the awed earth shakes in terror At the rumbling and the roar.

<~~~~~ the ror Crossing long and thread-like bridges, Spanning streams, and cleaving ridges, Sweeping over broad green meadows, That in starless darkness layHow the engine rocks and clatters, Showers of fire around it scatters 516

Page 517 view page image

THE RAILWAY RIDE. While its blazing eye outpeering Looks for perils in the way. To yon tunnel-drift careering, In its brown mouth disappearing, Past from sight and passed from hearing, Silence follows like a spell; Then a sudden sound-burst surges, As the train from earth emerges With a scream of exultation, With a wild and joyous yell. With the chariot swift of Ares Which a god to battle carries? What the steeds the rash boy handled Harnessed to the sun-god’s wain? Those are mythic; this is real; Born not of the past ideal, But of craft and strength and purpose, Love of speed and thirst of gain. O! what wildness! 0! what gladness’ O! what joy akin to madness! 0! what reckless feeling raises Us to-day beyond the stars!

What to us all human ant-hills, Fame fools sigh for, land that man tills, In the swinging and the clattering And the rattling of the cars? THOMAS

DUNN ENGLISH. 517

Page 518 view page image

YE MEANER BEAUTIES. YE meaner beauties of the night, That poorly satisfy our eyes, More by your numbers than your light: Ye common people of the skies! What are you when the moon shall rise? Ye violets that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known, l,ike the proud virgins of the year, As if the Spring were all your own! What are you when the rose is blown? Ye curious chanters of the wood, That warble forth Dame Nature’s lays, Thinking your passions understood By your weak accents! what’s your praise When Philomel her voice shall raise? So when my mistress shall be seen In sweetness of her looks and mind, By virtue first, then choice, a queen: Tell me, if she was not designed Th’ eclipse and glory of her kind?

SIR HENIRY WOTTON. 518

Page 519 view page image

THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN. AT the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, Hangs a thrush that sings loud-it has sung for three years: Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the bird. ‘T is a note of enchantment! what ails her? She sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees; Bright volumes of vapor through Lothbury glide, And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. Green pastures she views, in the midst of the dale Down which she so often has tripped with her pail; And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove’s, The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. She looks - and her heart is in heaven! But they fade: The mist and the river, the hill and the shade. The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, And the colors have all passed away from her eyes. WILLIAM WORDSWORTIH. 519

Page 520 view page image

I

Page 521 view page image

0 F LIFE. SONGS

Page 522 view page image

Page 523 view page image

BUGLE SONG. THE splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old ill story; The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 523 .a god!~ 1. i i

Page 524 view page image

SONG. Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying: Blow, bugle! answer, echoes - dying, dying, dying! O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far, from cliff and scar, The horns of Elfiand faintly blowing! Blow! let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle! answer, echoes-dying, dying, dying! O love, they die in yon rich sky; They faint on hill or field or river! Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying; And answer, echoes, answer! -dying, dying, dying!

ALFRED TENNYSON. SONG. O ROSES for the flush of youth, And laurel for the perfect prime; But pluck an ivy branch for me Grown old before my time. O
violets for the grave of youth, And bay for those dead in their prime; Give me the withered leaves I chose Before in the old time. CIIRtISTINA G.

ROSSETTI. 524

Page 525 view page image

TIIE PIPERI. IPING downi the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he, laughing, said to me: ” Pipe a song about a lamb.” So I piped with merry cheer. “Piper, pipe that song again.”

So I piped; he wept to hear. “Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe; Sing thy songs of happy cheer.” So I sang the same again, While he wept with joy to hear. ” Piper, sit thee down and write, In a book, that all may read.” So he vanished from my sight, And I plucked a hollow reed, And I made a rural pen; And I stained the water clear; And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear. WILLIAM BLAKe. 525

Page 526 view page image

THE AWAKENING OF ENDYMION. Lox.i upon a mountain, the pine-trees wailing round him, Lone upon a mountain the Grecian youth is laid; Sleep, mystic sleep, for many a year has bound him, Yet his beauty, like a statue’s, pale and fair, is undecayed When will he awaken? When will he awaken? a loud voice hath been crving Night after night-and the cry has been in vain; Winds, woods, and waves found echoes for replying, But the tones of the beloved one were never heard again. When will he awaken? Asked the midnight’s silver queen. Never mortal eye has looked upon his sleeping; Parents, kindred, comrades, have mourned for himn as dead By day the gathered clouds have had him in their keeping, And at night the solemn shadows round his rest are shed. When will he awaken? Long has been the cry of faithful Love’s imploring; Long has Hope been watching with soft eyes fixed above. When will the Fates, the life of life restoring, Own themselves vanquished by much-enduring Love? When will he awaken? Asks the midnight’s weary queen. 526

Page 527 view page image

THE AWAKENING OF ENDYMION. Beautifuil the sleep that she has watched untiring, Lighted up with visions from yonder radiant sky, Full of an immortal’s glorious inspiring, Softened by the woman’s meek and loving sigh. When will he awaken? He has been dreaming of old heroic stories, The Poet’s passionate world has entered in his soul; He has grown conscious of life’s ancestral glories, When sages and when kings first upheld the mind’s collti()l. When will he awaken? Asks the midnight’s stately queen.

Lo, the appointed midnight! the present hour is fated! It is Endymion’s planet that rises on the air; How long, how tenderly his goddess love has waited, Waited with a love too mighty for despair I Soon he will awaken.

Soft amid the pines is a sound as if of singing, Tones that seem the lute’s from the breathing flowers depart; Not a wind that wanders o’er Mount Latmos but is bringing Music that is murmured from Nature’s inmost heart. Soon he will awaken To his and midnight’s queen. Lovely is the green earth-she knows the hour is holy; Starry are the heavens, lit with eternal joy; Light like their own is dawning sweet and slowly O’er the fair and sculptured forehead of that yet dreaming boy. Soon he will awaken. 52T

Page 528 view page image

THE AWAKENING OF ENDYMION. Red as the red rose toward the morning turning, Warms the youth’s lip to the watcher’s near his own; While the dark eyes open-bright, intense, and burning With a life more glorious than, ere they closed, was known. Yes, he has awakened For the midnight’s happy queen!

What is this old history, but a lesson given, How true love still conquers by the deep strength of truth; How all the impulses, whose native home is heaven, Sanctify the visions of hope, and faith, and youth? ‘Tis for such they waken. When every worldly thought is utterly forsaken, Comes the starry midnight, felt by life’s gifted few; Then will the spirit from its earthly sleep awaken To a being moie intense, more spiritual, and true. So dothli the soul awaken, Like that youth to night’s fair queen! LETITIA ELIZABETII L1ANDON .528

Page 529 view page image

THE PAUPER’S DRIVE. THERE’S a grim one-horse hearse ill a jolly round trot: To the churchyard a pauper is going, I wot; ‘Tilhe road it is roughl, and the hearse hlas no spriii~s; And llark to the dirge which the mad driver sings Rattle his bones ove2 the stones! fe’s only a pauper, whom nobody owns! 0, where are thle mourners? Alas! thlere are nonle: He has left not a gap in the world, now lhe’s goneiNot a tear in the eye of child, woman, or man; ‘ro the grave with his carcass as fast as you can.

Rattle his bones over the stones! He’s only a pauper, whom nobody owns!

Wlhat a jolting, and creaking, and sp]ashing, al(l diii! The wlip, how it cracks! and the wheels, lhow they spinl How tlle dirt, right an(t left, o’er the hedges ix llrle(l! Thle pauper at length niakes a noise in the world. Battle his bones over the stones! He’s only a pauper, whomn nobody owns! Poor )auiper deftnct! he has made some approach To gentility, now that he’s stretched in a coach. He’s taking a drive in his carriage at last; But it will not be locng, if he goes on so fast. Rattle his bones over the stones! Ife’s only a pauper, whom nobodiy ownis.’ 529

Page 530 view page image

WINIFREDA. You bumpkins, who stare at your biother conveyed, Behold what respect to a cloddy is paid! And be joyful to think, when by death you’re laid low You’ve a chance to the grave like a gemman to go. Rattle his bones over the stones! IHe’s only a pauper, whomn nobody owns! But a truce to this strain; for my soul it is sad, To think that a heart in humanity clad Should make, like the brutes, such a desolate end, And depart from the light without leaving a friend! Bear soft his bones over the stones!

Though a pauper, he’s one whom his Maker yet owns. THOMAS NOEL WINIFREDA.

AWAY! let naught to love displeasing, MIy Winifreda, move your care; let naught delay the heavenly blessing, Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear.

Wllat though no grants of royal donors With pompous titles grace our blood; We’ll shine in more substantial honors, And to be noble we’ll be good. G530

Page 531 view page image

WINIFREDA. ()ilr name, while virtue thus we tender, Will sweetly sound where’er’tis spoke; And all the great ones, they shall wonder How they respect such little folk. What though from fortuiine’s lavish bounty No mighty treasures we possess; We’ll find within our pittance plenty, And be content without excess. Still shall each kind returning season Sufficient for our wishes give; For we will live a life of reason, And that’s the only life to live. Through youth and age in love excelling, We’ll hand in hand together tread; Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling, And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed. How should I love the pretty creatures, While round my knees they fondly clung, To see theni look their mnother’s features, To hear them lisp their mother’s tongue! And when with envy, Time, transported, Shall think to riob lus of our joys, You’ll in your girls again be courted, And I’ll go wooing in my boys. AwosyMou& 531

Page 532 view page image

INCIDENT OF TIlE FRENCII CAMI. I. You know we French stormed Ratisbon. A iile or so awa,v On a little mound, Na,tpoleon Stood (n ore stormoii-day 532 / - - — - -1-f  -,-‘ I-I- “I, , i,,, 7 I.,..

Page 533 view page image

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMIP. With nieck out-thrust, you fancy how, Legs wide, arms locked behind: As if to balance the prone brow, Oppressive with its mind. II. Just as perhaps he mused “My plans, That soar, to earth may fall, Let once my army-leader, Lannes, Waver at yonder wall,” Out’twixt the battery-smokes there flew A rider, bound on bound Full-galloping; nor bridle drew Until he reached the mound. III. Then off there flung in smiling joy, And held himself erect By just his horse’s mane, a boy: You hardly could suspect, (So tight he kept his lips compressed, Scarce any blood came through,) You looked twice, ere you saw his breast Was all but shot in two. IV. “Well,” cried he, “Emperor, by God’s grace We’ve got you Ratisbon! The Marshal’s in the market-place, And you’ll be there anon, 533

A

Page 534 view page image

DEADNESS IN TFIE (1OUNTRY. To see your flag-bird flap his vans Where I, to heart’s desire, Perched him!” The chief’s eye flashed: his plans Soared up again like fire. V. The chief’s eye flashed; but presently Softened itself, as sheathes A film the mother-eagle’s eye When her bruised eaglet breathes: ,You’re wounded!” “Nay,” his soldier’s pride Touched to the quick, he said: “I’m killed, sire I” And, his chief beside, Smiling, the boy fell dead. ROBERT BROWNING. DEADNESS IN THE COUNTRY. On, no,‘twas lifeless here, he said, To him the place seemed almost dead, Stone-dead, he said, but why so dead, On lands with chirping birds on wing, And rooks on high, with blackbirds nigh, And swallows wheeling round in ring, And fish to swim, where waters roam, By bridge and rock to fall in foam.

WII,LLIAM BARNES. 534 . 0.

Page 535 view page image

TOM BOWLING. HElRE, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, The darling of our crew; No more he’ll hear the tempest howling, For Death has broached him to. His form was of the manliest beauty: His heart was kind and soft; Faithfiul below, hlie did his duty; But now he’s gone aloft. Tom never from his word departed, His virtues were so rare; His firiends were many and true-hearted; His Poll was kind and fair. And then he’d sing so blithe and jolly, Ah, many’s the time and oft! But mirth is turned to melancholy, For Tom is gone aloft. Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,. When He, who all commands, Shall give, to call life’s crew together, The word to pipe all hands. Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches, In vain Tom’s life has doffed; For, though his body’s under hatches, His soul is gone aloft. CHAR,LES DIBDIN. 535

Page 536 view page image

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI. 1. O WHAT can ail tliee, kiiigilt-at-arm..

Aloiie, and palely loitering? The sedge has withered from the lake, And no birds sing. II. O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms? So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel’s granary is full, And the harvest done. III. I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheeks a fading rose Fast witheretli too. IV. I met a lady in the mead, Full beautifil, a fairy’s child; Her hlair was long, her foot was lighlt, And her eyes were wild. 536

Page 537 view page image

LA BELLE DAMNE SANS IMERCI. V. I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She looked at me as she did love, And made sweet moan. v”. I se; her on mv pacing steed, Anc nothing else saw all day long; For sidelong would she bend, and sing A tairy son,g. VI’.

She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna dew; And sure in language strange she said, “I love thee true.” VIII. She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept, and sighed full sore; And there I shut her wild, wild eyes With kisses four. IX. And there she lulled me asleep; And there I dreamed-Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dreamed On the cold hill-side. 53’i

Page 538 view page image

5TIlE STRING TOKEN. x. I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors-death-pale were they all, They cried, “La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!” XI. I saw their stawrved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gaped wide; And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hill-side.

XII. And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is withered from the lake, And no birds sing. JOHN KEATS TIE

STRING TOKEN. “IF I am gone on, you will find a small string “WVere her words-” on this twig of the oak by the spring.” Oll t! gay are the new-leaved trees in the spring, Down under the height, where the skylark may sing; And welcome in summer are tree-leaves that meet On wide-spreading limbs, for a screen firom the heat; And fair in the fall-tide may flutter the few Yellow leaves of the trees that the sky may shine through. But welcomer far than the leaves, is the string On the twig of the oak by the spring. WILLIAM 3BARINES. 538

Page 539 view page image

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. ONE more unfortunate. Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair! 5:l,q

Page 540 view page image

Till0 Il’ R1)(;E OF SIG(HS. ILook at her garmenits Clinging like cerements, WVliilst tile wave constantly Drips fi’omin ler clothling; Take ler lup instantly, l,oving, not loathing! Toucli liei lot scorilfilly!

Thinik of lier mournfitlly, Gently al(lI liumalily; Not of the stainis of lher: All that remnainis of lier Now is plu’e womanly. MIake no deep scrutiny Into hler mutiny, Rasli and undutiful; Past all dishlonor, Deatl hlas left on hler Only the beautifitl. Still, for all slil)s of hlers, One of Eve’s famiily, Wipe thlose poor lips of hers, Oozing so clammily. l,oop up her tresses Escaped fiom the comb, Her fair auburn tresses, Whlilst wonderment guesses Wlhere was her home? 540

Page 541 view page image

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. Who was her father? Who was her manother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other? Alas, for the rarity Of Clhristian cllarity UnIder the sun! 0, it was p)itiful! Near a whole city full, Home she had inone. Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly Feelings had changed; Love, by liarsl evidence, Thrown from its eminence; Even God’s providence Seeming estranged! Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement, She stood, with amazement, Houseless by night. 541

Page 542 view page image

THE BRIDGE OF SIGIIS. The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver; But not the dark arch, Nor the black flowing river; Mad from life’s history, Glad to death’s mystery Swift to be hurledAnywhere, anywhere Out of the world! In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly The rough river ran, Over the brink of it! Picture it -think -of it, Dissolute man! Lave in it, drink of it Then, if you can! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care! Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair! Ere her limbs, frigidly, Stiffen too rigidly, Decently, kindly, Smooth and compose them; And her eyes, close them, Staring so blindly ‘542

Page 543 view page image

JiRIDGE ()F SIGHS. Dreadfully staring Through muddy impurity, As when with the daring Last look of despairing Fixed on fuiturity. Perishing gloomily, Spurred by contumely, Cold inhumanity Burning insanity Into her rest!

Cross her hands humbly, As if praying dumbly, Over her breast! Owning her weakness, Her evil behavior, And leaving, with meekness, Her sins to her Saviour! ,I[OMASs I4OoD. 543

Page 544 view page image

I iIIIIIIiI~ I THFE LAST LEAF. I SAW him once before, As lie passed by the door; And again The pavement-stones resound As he totters o’er the ground With his cane. .544

Page 545 view page image

THE LAST LEAF. They say that in his prime, Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the crier on his round Through the town. But now he walks the streets, And he looks at all he meets So forlorn; And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, “They are gone.” The mossy marbles rest On the lips that hlie has pressed In their bloom; And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb. My grandmamma has said, (Poor old lady! she is dead Long ago,) That he had a Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose In the snow.

But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chliu Like a staff; 54.5

Page 546 view page image

TO ALTHEA-FROM PeRISON. And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh. I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here, But the old three-cornered hat And the breeches-and all that. Are so queer! I And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree In the spring, Let them smile, as I do now, At the old forsaken bough Where I cling. OLIVER

WENDELL HOLMES TO ALTHEA-FROM PRISON. Wat Love, with unconfined wings, Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at my grates; When I lie tangled in her hair And fettered to her eye, 546

Page 547 view page image

TO ALTHEA - FROM PRISON. The birds, that wanton in the air, Know no such liberty. When flowing cups run swiftly round, With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses bound. Our hearts with loyal flames; When thirsty grief in wine we steep When healths and draughts go fiee, Fishes, that tipple in the deep, Know no such liberty. When, like committed linnet, I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty, And glories of my king; When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be, Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison m Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage. If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty. RICHARD

LOVELACE. 547

Page 548 view page image

IT NEVER COMES AGAIN. THERE are gains for all our losses, There are balms for all our pain But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts, And it never comes again. We are stronger, and are better, Under mnanhood’s sterner reigni; Still, we feel that something sweet Followed youth, with flying feet, And will never come again.

Something beautiful is vanished, And we sigh for it in vain: We behold it everywhere, On the earth, and in the air, But’it never comes again.

RIO-IIAID HENRY STODDARD 548

Page 549 view page image

YOUTH AND AGE. VERSE, a breeze’mid blossoms straying, Whiere Hope clung feeding like a bee! Both were mine; Life went a-Maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young. When I was young,! Ah, wofuil When! Ahl, for the change’twixt Now and Then This breathing house, not built with hands, This body, that does me grievous wrong, O’er airy cliffs and glittering sands How lightly then it flashed along! Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, On winding lakes and rivers wide, That ask no aid of sail or oar, That fear no spite of wind or tide. Naught cared this body fol wind or weather, When Youth and I lived in’t together. Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like; Friendship is a sheltering tree; O the joys that came down shower-like, Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, Ere I was old! 549

Page 550 view page image

YOUTH AND AGE. Ere I was old! Ah, wofuil Ere! Which tells me Youth’s no longer here. O Youth! For years so many and sweet ‘Tis known that thou and I were one; I’ll think it but a fond conceit; It cannot be that thou art gone! Thy vesper-bell hath not yet tolled, And thou wert aye a masker bold. What strange disguise hlast now put onl, To make believe that thou art gone? I see these locks in silvery slips, This drooping gait, this altered size; But springtide blossoms on thy lips, And tears take sunshine from thine eyes! Life is but thought; so think I will That Youth and I are house-mates still. Dew-drops are the gems of morning, But the tears of mournful eve. Where no hope is, life’s a warning That only serves to make us grieve, When we are old: That only serves to make us grieve With oft and tedious taking leave; Like some poor nigh-related guest That may not rudely be dismissed, Yet hath outstayed his welcome while, And tells the jest without the smile. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 550

Page 551 view page image

THE LORELEI. I KNOW not what it presages, This heart with sadness fraught: ‘Tis a tale of the olden ages, That will not from my thought. The air grows cool, and darkles; The Rhiie flows calmly on; The mountain summit sparkles In the light of the setting sun. There sits, ill soft reclining, A maiden wondrous fair, With golden raiment shining, And combing hler golden hair. With a comb of gold she combs it; And combing, low singeth she A song of a strange, sweet sadness, A wonderfiul melody. The sailor shudders, as o’er him The strain comes floating by; He sees not the cliffs before him, He only looks on high. 551

Page 552 view page image

WITHOUT AND WITHIN. Ah! round him the dark waves, flinging Their arms, draw him slowly down; And this, with her wild, sweet singing, The Lorelei has done. HEIxRICII HEINE. (German.) Translation of CHRISTOPIIER PEARSE

CRANCII WITHOUT AND WTIHIN. My coachman, in the moonlighlt there, ILooks through the side-light of the door; I hear him with his brethren swear, As I could do, -but only more. 552

Page 553 view page image

WITHIOUT AND WITHIN. Flattening his nose against the pane, He envies me my brilliant lot, Breathes on his aching fists in vain, And dooms me to a place more hot. He sees me to the supper go, A silken wonder by my side, Bare arms, bare shoulders, and a row Of flounces, for the door too wide.

He tlinks how happy is my arm, ‘Neatli its white-gloved and jewelled load, And wishes me some dreadful harm, Hearing the merry corks explode.

Meanwhlile I inly curse the bore Of hunting still the same old coon, And envy him, outside the door, In golden quiets of the moon. Tile winter wind is not so cold As the blight smiles hlie sees me win, Nor the host’s oldest wine so old As our poor gabble-watery, thin. I envy him the ungyved prance By which his freezing feet he warms, And drag my lady’s-chains and dance, The galley-slave of dreary forms. 583

Page 554 view page image

SIR PATRICK SPENS. 0, could he have my share of din, And I his quiet!

-past a doubt ‘Twould still be one man bored within, And just another bored without. JAMirEs RUSSELL I,OWE1IL. SIR PATRICIK SPENS. THE king sits in Dunfermline town, Drinking the blue-red wine: “0 where will I get a skeely skipper, To sail this new ship o’ mine?” 554

Page 555 view page image

SIR PATRICK SPENS. O up and spak an eldern knight, Sat at the king’s right knee: “Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor That ever sailed the sea.” Our king has written a braid letter, And sealed it wi’ his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the sand. “To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway o’er the faem! The king’s daughter of Noroway, ‘Tis thou maun bring her hame.” The first word that Sir Patrick read, Sae loud, loud laughed he; The neist word that Sir Patrick read, The tear blindit his e’e. “O! wha is this has (lone this deed, And tauld the king o’ me, To send us out at this time o’ the year, To sail upon the sea? “Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our ship maun sail the faem; The king’s daughter of Noroway, ‘Tis we maun.fetch her hame.” 555

Page 556 view page image

SIR PATRICK SPENS. They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, Wi a’ the speed they may, They hae landed in Noroway Upon a Wodensday. They hadna been a week, a week, In Noroway but twae, When that the lords o’ Noroway Began aloud to say: ” Ye Scottishmen spend a’ our And a’ our queenis fee.”

“Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud! Fu’ loud I hear ye lie I “For I hae brought as mickle As gane my men and me; Algd I hae brought a half-foui Out owre the sea wi’ me. ” Mak ready, mak ready, my merry men a’! Our gude ship sails the morn.” ” Now, ever alake! my master dear; I fear a deadly storm! “I saw the new moon, late yestreen, Wi’ the auld moon in her arm; And if we gang to sea, master, 1 fear we’ll comne to harm.” .556 kiiig’s gowd, white monie o’ gude red gowd

Page 557 view page image

SIR PATRICK SPENS. They liadna sailed a league, a A league, but barely three, When the lift grew dark, and And gurly grew the sea. The ankers brak and the topmasts lap, It was sic a deadly storm; And the waves cam owre the broken slil) Till a’ her sides were torn. ” O where will I get a gude sailor To tak my helm ill hand, Till I gae up to the tall topmast, To see if I can spy land?” “0 here am I, a sailor gude, To tak the helm in hand, Till you gae up to the tall topmast; But I fear ye’ll ne’er spy land.” He hadna gane a step, a step, A step, but barely ane, When a boult flew out of our goodly ship, And the saut sea it cam in. “Gae fetch a web o’ the silken claith, Anither o’ the twine, And wap them into our ship’s side, And letna the sea come in.” 557 the wind blew loud,

Page 558 view page image

SIR PATRICK SPENS. They fetched a web o’ the silken claith, Anither o’ the twine, And they wapped them into that gutde ship’s side; But still the sea cam in. 0 laith, laith were our gude Scots lords, To weet their milk-white hands I But lang or a’ the play was played They wat their gowden bands. 0
laith, laithli were our gude Scots lords To weet their cork-heeled shoon!

But lang or a’ the play was played, They wat their hats aboon And mony was the feather-bed That floated on the faem; And mony was the gude lord’s son That never mair cam hame. The ladyes wrang their fingers white, The maidens tore their hair, A’ for the sake of their trile loves; For them they’ll see nae mair. 0 lang, lang may the ladyes sit, Wi’ their fans in their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come sailing to the strand!

558

Page 559 view page image

AN ANGEL IN THIF, HOUSE. And lang, lang may the maidens sit, Wi’ their gowd kaims in their hair, A’ waiting for their ain dear loves; For them they’ll see nae mair. Half-owre, half-owre to Aberdour ‘Tis fifty fathom deep, And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, Wi’ the Scots lords at his feet. ANONYMOUS. AN ANGEl, IN THE HOUSE. How sweet it were, if without feeble frighlt, Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sighlt, An angel came to us, and we could bear To see him issue firom the silent air At evening in our room, and bend on ours His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowers News of dear friends, and children who have never Been dead indeed-as we shall know forever. Alas! we think not what we daily see About our hearths - angels, that are to be, Or may be if they will, and we prepare Their souls and ours to meet in happy air: A child, a friend, a wife whose soft heart sings In unison with ours, breeding its future wings. LEIGH HUNT. 559 -0

Page 560 view page image

~~~~ THE MERRY CHASSEUR. 0, a gallant sans-peur Is the merry chasseur, With his fanfaron ]lorn, and his rifle, ping-pang! And his grand haversack Of gold on his back: 5G0 I,i. 1. I i - Is. I ), -

Page 561 view page image

TIlE MERRY CHASSEUR. His pistol, cric-crac I And his sword, cling-clangI O, to see him blithe and gay From some hot and bloody day, Come to dance the night away till the With a wheel and a whirl, And a wheeling waltzing girl, And his bow, “place aux dames!” and And his hop and his fling, Till his gold and silver ring To the clatter and the clash of his swo But hark!

Through the dark Up goes the well-known shout! The drums beat the turn-out! Cut short your courting, Monsieur l’Amant Saddle! mount! march!

trot! Down comes the storm of shot! The foe is at the charge! En avant!

His jolly haversack Of gold is on his back; Hear his pistol, cric-crac!

hear his rifle, ping-pani: Vive l’Empereur! And where’s the chasseur? He’s in Among the din, Steel to steel-cling-clang I SYDNEY DOBELLI. 561 bugle blows 11 au ran,,-! ‘ his oath, 11 feu et saiig! “

Page 562 view page image

K F~~~~~~~ . I4 I 1)

Page 563 view page image

j?;:;Th#~<;AA;iF~>;~ _ — ~~~~;~~ THE SONG OF TIlE SHIRT. WITH fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread: Stitcli, stitchl, stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt: 563

Page 564 view page image

THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the “Song of the Shirt!” “Work, work, work! While the cock is crowing aloof; And work, work, work! Till the stars shine through the roof. It’s O! to be a slave Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save, If this is Christian work! “‘Work, work, work, Till the brain begins to swim! Work, work, work, Till the eyes are heavy and dim!

Seam, and gusset, and band, Band, and gusset, and seam; Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in a dream! “0 men, with sisters dear! 0 men, with niothers and wives! It is not linen you’re wearing out, But human creatures’ lives I Stitch, stitch, stitch, In poverty, hunger, and dirt; Sewing at once, with a double thread, A shroud as well as a shirt! “But why do I talk of Death, That phantom of grisly bone? 5)64

Page 565 view page image

THE SONG OF TIlE SHIRT. I hardly fear his terrible shape, It seems so like my own; It seems so like my own Because of the fasts I keep; O God! that bread should be so dear, And hesh and blood so cheap! “Work, work, work!

My labor never flags; And what are its wages? A bed of straw, A crust of bread - and rags. That shattered roof-and this naked floor, A table - a broken chair; And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank For sometimes falling there I “Work. work, work, From weary chime to chime I Work, work, work, As prisoners work for crime! Band, and gusset, and seam, Seam, and gusset, and band; Till the heart is sick and the brain benumbed, As well as the weary hand. “Work, work, work, In the dull December light! And work, work, work, When the weather is warm and bright I While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling, 565

Page 566 view page image

THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. As if to show me their sunny backs, And twit me with the Spring. ” O! but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet, With the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet!

For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want, And the walk that costs a meal ” 0! but for one short hour, A respite however brief! No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief! A little weeping would ease my heart.; But in their briny bed My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread!” With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread. Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt; And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich! She sang this “Song of the Shirt!”

THOMAS HOOD .566

Page 567 view page image

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIG.ADE, AT BALAKLAVA. HALF a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death, Rode the Six Hundred. Into the valley of Death Rode the Six Hundred; For up came an order wllich Some one had blundered. ” Forward, the Lighlt Brig,ade! Take the guns!” Nolan said; Into the valley of Death, Rode the Six Hundred.

“Forward, the Light Brigade!” No man was there dismayed, Not though the soldiers knew Some one had blundered: Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die; Into the valley of Death, Rode the Six Hundred. 567

Page 568 view page image

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them, Volleyed and thundered. Stormed at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well: Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell, Rode the Six Hundred. ]M 6 >yj,;;; Flashed all their sabres bare, Flashed all at once in air, 568 ‘1

Page 569 view page image

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wondered. Plunged in the battery smoke, With many a desperate stroke The Russian line they broke Then they rode back-but not, Not the Six Hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them, Volleyed and thundered. Stormed at with shot and shlell. While horse and hero fell, Those that had fought so well Came from the jaws of Death, Back from the mouth of Hell, All that was left of them, Left of Six Hundred. When can their glory fade? 0! the wild charge they made! All the world wondered. Honor the charge they made! Honor the Light Brigade, Noble Six Hundred! ALFRED TENNYSON. 569

Page 570 view page image

SONG OF THE SILENT I,AND INTO the Silent Land! Ah! who shall lead us thither? Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand; Who leads us with a gentle hand Thither, 0 thither! Into the Silent Land? Into the Silent Land! To you, ye boundless regions Of all perfection, tender morning-visions Of beauteous souls, the Future’s pledge and!)and’ Who in Life’s battle firm doth stand Shall bear Hope’s tender blossoms Into the Silent Land! 0 Land! 0 Land!

For all the brokenhearted, The mildest herald by our fate allotted Beckons, and with inverted torch doth staii(l, To lead us with a gentle hand Into the land of the great departed, Into the Silent Land! JOHANN

GAUDENZ VON SAI,TIS. (German.) Translation of HENRY WADS\ )WRTH LONGFET, I,(W. 570

Page 571 view page image

THE ONE GRAY HAIR. THE wisest of the wise Listen to pretty lies, And love to hear them Doubt not that Solomon Listened to many a one: Some iii his youth, and more when I never sat among The choir of Wisdom’s song, But pretty lies loved I As much as any king: When youth was on the wing, And (must it then be told?) when youth had quite gone by. Alas! and I have not The pleasant hour forgot, When one pert lady said “0 Landor! I am quite Bewildered with affiight: I see (sit quiet now!) a white hair on Another, more benign, Drew out that hair of mine, And in her own dark hair 571 he grew old. your head!”

Page 572 view page image

THE SHEPHERD’S RESOLUTION. Pretended she had found That one, and twirled it round: Fair as she was, she never was so fair. WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR THE

SHEPHERD’S RESOLUTION. SHALL I, wasting in despair, Die, because a woman’s fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care, ‘Cause another’s rosy are? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, If she be not so to me, What care I how fair she be? Shall my foolish heart be pined ‘Cause I see a woman kind? Or a well-disposed nature Joined with a lovely feature? Be she meeker, kinder, than Turtle-dove or pelican, If she be not so to me, What care I how kind she bt Shall a woman’s virtues move Me to perish for her love? Or her well-deservings known Make me quite forget mine own’ 572

Page 573 view page image

THE OLD CON’TINENTALS. Be she with that goodness blest Which may merit name of best, If she be not such to me, What care I how good she be?

‘Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool’ and die? Those that bear a noble mind Where they want of riches find Think what with them they would do That without them dare to woo; And unless that mind I see, What care I how great she be? Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne’er the more despair. If she love me, this believe: I will die ere she shall grieve. If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn, and let her go; For if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be? GEORGE WITHER. THE

OLD CONTINENTALS. IN their ragged regimentals Stood the old Continentals, Yielding not, While the grenadiers were lunging, 573 I

Page 574 view page image

THE OLD CONTINENTALS. And like hail fell the Cannon-shot; When the files Of the Isles, l’rom the smoky iiight-encampment, pant Unicorn; grummer, grummer, rolled the roll Through the morn! en with eyes to the front all, d with guns horizontal, Stood our sires; ile the balls whistled deadly, 1
in streams flashing redly, Blazed the fires; As the roar On the shore, ttle-breakers o’er the green-sodded acres Of the plain; louder, cracked the black gunpowder, Cracking amain I Now like smiths at their forges Worked the red St. George’s Cannoneers; And the “villainous saltpetre”’

Rang a fierce, discordant metre Round our ears. As the swift Storm-drift.

574 borp, the banner of the ram Aiid -,rummer, of the druinnier, Swept the strong And lotider, louder,

Page 575 view page image

‘rlE OLD CONTINENTALS. With hot sweeping anger, came the horse-guards’

clangor On our flanks; Then higher, higher, higher, burned the old-fashioned fire Through the ranks! ffi~~~~~ T i Then the bareheaded Colonel Galloped through the white infernal Powder-cloud; And his broadsword was swinging, 575

Page 576 view page image

THE OLD CONTINENTALS. And his brazen throat was ringing, Triimpet-loud.

Then the blue Bullets flew, And the trooper-jackets reddened at the touch of the leaden Rifle-breath; And rounder, rounder, rounder, roared the iron six-poun(ler, Hulling death! (a’Y HUMPHRIEY McMASTER 576 ,.1,

Page 577 view page image

NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAILOR. I LOVE contemplating, apart From all his homicidal glory, The traits that soften to our heart Napoleon’s story.

‘Twas when his banners at Boulogne Armed in our island every freeman, His navy chanced to capture one Poor British seaman. They suffered him, I know not how, Unprisoned on the shore to roam; And aye was bent his longing brow On England’s home. His eye, inethlinks, pursued the flight Of birds, to Britain half-way over, With envy-they could reach the white. Dear cliffs of Dover. A btonny midnight watch, he thought, Than this sojourn would have been dearer, If but the storm his vessel brought To England nearer. 5 77

Page 578 view page image

NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAILOR. At last, when care had banished sleep, He saw one morning-dreaming-doting, An empty hogshead from the d(leep Come slhoreward floating; He hid it in a cavp, a,il(l wrought Thle livelong (lay Jaborious; lurklinlg, Until hlie launched a tiny boat, By lnighlty working. Heaven help IIus!‘twas a thing, beyond Description wretched; such a wherry Perllaps ne’er ventured on a pond, Or crossed a ferry. For ploughling iln thle salt-sea field, It would have made the boldest shudder: Untarred, uncomnpassed, aud(l unkeeled; No sail-no rudder. From neighboring woods lie interlaced His sorry skiff withl wattled willows; AnId, thus equipped, he would have passed The foaming billows. But Frenchmen caugllt liiin on the beach. Ihis little Argo sorely jeering; ‘ill tidings of him chanced to r(acti Napoleon’s hearintg. 578

Page 579 view page image

NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAILOR. With folded arms Napoleon stood, Serene alike in peace and danger; And, in his wonted attitude, Addressed the stranger: “Rash man, that would’st yon channel pass On twigs and staves so rudely fashioned! Thy heart with some sweet British lass M:ust be impassioned.” “I have no sweetheart,” said the lad; “But, absent long froiii one another, Great was the longing that I had To see my mother.”

“And so thou shialt,” Napoleon said: ” Ye’ve both mny favor fairly won; A noble mother miust have bred So brave a son.” He gave the tar a piece of gold, And, with a flag of truce, conmmanded He should be shlipped to England Old, And safely landed. Our sailor oft could scantly shift To find a dinner, plain and hearty; But never changed the coin and gift Of Bonaparte. THOMAS CAMPBEI.L. 579

Page 580 view page image

TIIE FOR(;IN(G OF TIIE ANCIIOR. (“OME, s(e the Dolphii’s anchor forged T’tis,it a wliite hett now’ Tlie bellows ceased, the flames decreased; though, on the forge’s brow, 580

Page 581 view page image

THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound, And fitfully you still may see the griul smiths ranking round All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare) Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass there. The windlass strains the tackle-chlains -the black mould heaves below; And, red and deep, a hundred veins burst out at every throe. It rises, roars, rends all outright -O0, Vulcan! what a glow ‘Tis blinding white,‘tis blasting bri,ght - the higrll sun shines not so! The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery, fearful show! The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy lurid row Of smiths, that stand, an ardent band, like men before the foe! As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monst(er slow Sinks on the anvil-all about, the faces fiery grow. “Hurrah!” they shout, “leap out, leap out!” bang, bailg! the sledges go; Hurrah! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low A hailing fount of fire is struck at every squashing blow; The leathern mail rebounds the hlail; the rattling cinders stfow The ground around; at every bound the sweltering fountains flow And, thick and loud, the swinking crowd at every stroke pani “ho! Leap out, leap out, my masters! leap out, and lay in load! Let’s forge a goodly anchora bower thick and broad; For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode; And I see the good ship riding, all in a perilous road: The low reef roaring on her lee; the roll of ocean poured From stem to stern, sea after sea; the mainmast by the board; The bulwarks down; the rudder gone; the boats stove at the chains; But courage still, brave mariners-the bower yet remains! And not an inch to flinch he deigns -save when ye pitch sky high; Then moves his head, as though he said, “Fear nothing here am T!” 581

Page 582 view page image

THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. Swing in your strokes in order! let foot and hand keep time; Your blows make music sweeter far than any steeple’s chime. But while ye swing your sledges, sing; and let the burden be, The anchor is the anvil-king, and royal craftsmen we I Strike in, strike in!

-the sparks begin to dull their rustling red Our hammers ring with sharper din -our work will soon be sped: Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery rich array For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy couch of clay; Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry craftsmen here For the yeo-heave-o, and the heave-away, and the sighing seamen’s cheer, When, weighing slow, at eve they go, far, far from love and home; And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o’er the ocean foam. [n livid and obdurate gloom, hlie darkens down at last; A shapely one he is, and strong, as e’er from cat was cast. O trusted and trustworthy guard! if thou hadst life like me, What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the deep green sea!

O deep-sea diver, who might then behold such sights as thou? The hoary monster’s palaces!-Methinks what joy’twere now To go plumb-plunging down, amid the assembly of the whales, And feel the churned sea round me boil beneath their scourgiiing tails! Then deep in tangle-woods to fight the fierce sea-unicorn, And send him foiled and bellowing back, for all his ivory lioirn; To leave the subtle sworder-fish of bony blade forlorn; And for the ghastly-grinning shark, to laugh his jaws to scorn; To leap down on the kraken’s back, where’mid Norwegian isles He lies, a lubber anchorage for sudden shallowed miles, Till, snorting like an under-sea volcano, off he rolls; Meanwhile to swing, a-buffeting the far astonished shoals ‘o‘82

Page 583 view page image

THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. Of his back-browsing ocean-calves; or, haply, in a cove Shell-strown, and consecrate of old to some Undine’s love, To find the long,-haired( mermaidens; or, hard by icy lands, To wrestle with the sea-serpent, upon cerulean sands. 0 broad-armed fisher of the deep!

whose sports can equal thiine? The Dolphin wei,ghs a thousand tons that tugs thy cable line And night by night’tis thy delight, thy glory day by day, Through sable sea and breaker white the giant game to play. But, shamer of our little sports, forgive the name I gave: A fishler’s joy is to destroy-thine office is to save. O lodger in the sea-kings’ halls!

couldst thou but understan(d Whose be the white bones by thy side-or who that dripping ban(t!, Slow.swaying in the heaving wave, that round about thee bend,’ With sounds like breakers in a dream blessing their ancient friend 0, couldst thou know what herods glide with larger steps round1
thee, Tlline iron side would swell with pride-thou’dst leap within the sea! Give honor to their memories who left the pleasant stran(l To shed their blood so freely for the love of fatherland, Who left their chance of quiet age and grassy churchyard grave So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing wave! 0, though our anchor may not be all I have fondly sung, Honor him for their memory whose bones he goes among! SAMUEL FERGUSON. 5

8’)

Page 584 view page image

f 4 1’ - k/4 t,- tj c7 k Q,4 /’,( I e -2,I 4’ a~71?d‘4M J4 . 11 /t4-a~/

Page 585 view page image

c F 4 ~s SPRANG to the stirnirup, and Joris and lie: I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; “Good speed! ” cried the watch as the gate-bolts undrew; ,Speed!” echoed the wall to us galloping through.

Behind shut the postern, the lighlts sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast. ~ through. Not a word to each other! we kept the great pace, Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place. I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup and set the pique riglit, Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit; Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. ‘Twas a moonset at starting; but whiile we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew, and twilight dawned clear; At Boom a great yellow star came out to see: 585 I 1i li ii i io II I I 1 ” i I I i i -i

Page 586 view page image

HOW( THEY BROUGHT THE GOOI) At DiUfflld’twas morning as plain as could be; And from Mecheln churchl-steeple we heard thle llalf-cliime: So Joris broke silence withl ” Yet there is time!” At Aerscliot up leaped of a sudden the sun, And against lim the cattle stood black, every one, To stare thlroug]h tle mist at us galloping past And I saw my stout galloper, Roland, at last, Witli resolute slloulders, eachl buttingr away The llaze, as some bluff river headland its sl)pray; And Ilis low lead and crest, just one shlarpl) ear bellt bck For my voice, and the other pricked out on }lis track; And one eye’s black intelligence-ever that glance O’er its whlite edge at me, its own master, askance; And the thick hleav-y slpume-flakes, wlichll aye an(l anon His fierce lips shlook upl)ward in galloping on. l3y Hasselt Dierck groaned; and cried Joris, ” Stay sl)pll’

Your Roos galloped bravely the fault’s not in hler; We’ll remember at Aix”-for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees, And sunk tail, and horrible hleave of the flank, As down on hler ]launches shle shuddered and sank. S6 we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh; ‘Neatli oU’ feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like claff:; Till over by Dalliem a dome-spire sprang wlhite, And ” Gallop! ” gasped Joris, “for Aix is in siglht .586

Page 587 view page image

NEWVS FROM1 GHENT TO AIX. How thley’ll greet us! “-and all in a moment his roaii, Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; And there was my Roland to bear the wllole weig(tt Of the news wlichl alone could save Aix from lier fate, Witli his nostrils like pits full of blood to thlle brim, A,iI withl circles of red for his eye-sockets’ rim. Tllen I cast loose my buff-coat, each liolster let fall, Slhook off botlh my jack-boots, let go belt and all, Stood lup in tle stirrup, leaned, patted hlis ear, Called mny Roland Ihis pet-name, my llorse witlhout peei, Claplped my hands, laulghed and sang, any noise, bad or good; Till at lengtli into Aix Rolalid galloped and stood. And all I remember is friends flocking round, As I sat witll Iis lead’twixt nmy knees on the ground And no voice but was p)raising this Roland of llne, As I pouired dowin his thlroat our last measure of wi,ie, Wliiell (thle burgresses voted by common consent) WVas 1no more than his dtie wlo brougllt good news firom Glientt RollEItT
rl~oWlxciG. ;~Th j 4#\;;,y; ~~~~~~;~ - ~~~~; 587

Page 588 view page image

NO MORE. No more! a harp-string’s deep and breakiing tonle, A last low summer breeze, a fiir-off swell, A dying echo of rich music gone, Breathe through those wor(ls, those mirir’ii s o)f f -treel No More’ To (twell in peace, with lhome-affectionis bo111(l, To know the sweetness of a mother’s voice, To feel the spirit of her love around, An(l in the blessing of her eve rejoice, No inore(‘ A dirge-like sound!- to greet the early friend Unto the hearth, his place of many days; In the glad song with kindred lips to blend, Or join the household laughter by the blaze, No moit’.

Through woods that shadowed our first years to rove, With all our native music in the air; To watch the sunset with the eyes we love, And turn and read our own heart’s answer tllere, No more! 588

Page 589 view page image

NO MORE. WVords of despair! yet Earth’s, all Earthl’s, thle woe Their passion breathes, the desolately deep! That sound in Heaven -O! image then the flow Of gladness in its tones-to part, to wveel), No more! To watch, ill dying hope, aflSection’s wane, To see the beautiful firom litb depart, To w-ear impatiently a secret chain, To waste the untold riches of tlhe lieart, No imore Tlirotughll long,, long years to seek, to sti’ive, to yearn For human love, and never quench tilat tliiist; To pour the soul out, winning( no return, O’er fiagtile idols, by deltusion nurse(l, No miore! ()i tilingis tlhat fail us, reed 1)y reed, to l,cii; To miourn the clhanged, thle far away, tlhe (lead; To seI(nd our troubled spirits thirouglh tlle unseen, Intensely questioning for treasures fle(l, iNo m I.):e’ WVords of triumphant music! Bear we on The weight of life, the chain, the ulgeiiial air: Tlheir deathless meaning, when our tasks are done, To learn in joy-to struggle, to despair, No more! FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANL. 589

Page 590 view page image

,L3 nct T’ lI lILIC ulcitiiiii g, So foindly bent on mine? I love tlit smile of tliiiie Inii’il,’ ,Borne by a trooper (larling, iMy looks his fire-glance wearing, I arm a fieeman’s lilid: This well d(eliglits thly braind! Huriali!” Ay, goo(l sw)or(l, fiee I wvear tliee; And, true lieart’s love, I bear tliee, IBetrotled one, at my side, As my (lear, closen bri(de! HIIrrali! ” To tliee till dettli itiited, Trly steel’s bright life is plig,llted; Ah, weie lily love but tiied! Wlien wilt thoou wed tliy bride? Hltiiali ” 590 3i 1 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~1 4’{S~~

};;~ISeaP* i L ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Page 591 view page image

K/ORNER’S SWORD SONG. The trumpet’s festal warning Shall hail our bridal morning; When loud the cannon chi(le, Then clasp I my loved bride! Hurrah!

” () joy, when thine arms hold me! I pine until they fold me. Come to me!

bridegroom, come! Tline is my maiden bloom. Hurrahl!” Why, in thy sheath upspringiilg, Thou wild, dear steel, art ringing(? Why clanging with delight, So eager for the fight? Hurral’ “Well may thy scabbard rattle: Trooper, I pant for battle; Right eager for the fight, I clang with wild delight. Hurrahl!’ Why thus, my love, forth creeping v Stay in thy chamber, sleeping; Wait still, in the narrow room Soon for my bride I come. Hurrah! 591

Page 592 view page image

KORNER’S SWORD SONG. ” Keep me not longer pining! O for Love’s garden, shining With roses bleeding red, And blooming with the dead! Hurrah!” Come from thy sheath, then, treasureI Thou trooper’s true eye-pleasure! Come forth, my good sword, come! Enter thy father-home! Hurrah! ” Ha! in the free air glancing, How brave this bridal dancing! how, in the sun’s glad beams, Bride-like, thy bright steel gleams! Hurrah!” Come on, ye German horsemen’ Come on, ye valiant Norsemen! Swells not your hearts’ warm tide?

Clasp each in hand his bride! Hurrah! Once at your left side sleeping, Scarce her veiled glance forthi peeping; Now, wedded with your right, God plights your bride in the liglht. Hurrah! 592

Page 593 view page image

KORNER’S SWORD SONG. Then press with warmni caresses, Close lips and bridal kisses, Your steel; cursed be his head Who fails the bride he wed!

HIurrah! Now, till your swords flash, flinging Clear sparks forth, wave themn singing. Day dawns for bridal pride; Hurrah, thou iron bride!

Hurrah! KARL TIIEODOR KoRNER. Translation of WILLIAM B. CIIORLEY. 593 0d (German.)

Page 594 view page image

LITTIE AND GREAT. A TrAVELLFER, tlrough, a lusty road, Strewed acorns on the lea; 594 v

Page 595 view page image

LITTLE AND GREAT. And one took root and sprouted up, And grew into a tree.

Love sought its shade at evening time, To breathe his early vows; And Age was pleased, in heats of noon, To bask beneath its boughs. The dormouse loved its dangling twigs, The birds sweet music bore; I’ stood a glory in its place, A blessing evermore. A little spring had lost its way Amid the grass and fern; A passing stranger scooped a well, Where weary men might turn. He walled it in, and hung with care A ladle at the brink: HIe thought not of the deed he did, But judged that Toil might drink. He passed again-and lo! the well, By summers never dried, Hadl cooled ten thousand parchling t)ngues, And saved a life beside. A dreamer dropped a random thiought; ‘Twas old-and yet’twas new. A simple fancy of the brain, But strong in being true. It shone upon a genial mind, And lo! its light became 59,

Page 596 view page image

LITTLE AND GREAT. A lamp of life, a beacon ray, A monitory flame. The thought was small-its issue great, A watch-fire on the hill, It sheds its radiance far adown, And cheers the valley still. A nameless man, amid a crowd That thronged the daily mart, Let fall a word of hope and love, Unstudied, from the heart. A whisper on the tumult thrown, A transitory breath, It raised a brother from the dust, It saved a soul from death. 0
germ! 0 fount I 0 word of love 0 thought at random cast! Ye were but little at the first, But mighty at the last I CHARLES MACKAY. 596

Page 597 view page image

THE RIVER TIME. 01 a wonderful stream is the River Time, As it runs through the realm of tears, With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme, And a broader sweep and a surge sublime, As it blends with the ocean of Years. How the winters are drifting, like flakes of snow, And the summers, like buds between, And the year in the sheaf-so they come and they go, On the river’s breast, with its ebb and its flow, As it glides in the shadow and sheen. There’s a magical isle up the River Time, Where the softest of airs are playing; There’s a cloudless sky and a tropical clime, And a song as sweet as a vesper chime, And the Junes with the roses are staying. And the name of the isle is the Long Ago, And we bury our treasures there; There are brows of beauty, and bosoms of snow; They are heaps of dust -but we loved them so I There are trinkets, and tresses of hair. 597

Page 598 view page image

GIVE ME THE OLD. There are fragments of song that nobody sings, And a part of an infant’s prayer; There’s a lute unswept, and a harp without strings; There are broken vows, and pieces of rings, And the garments that She used to wear. There are hands that are waved, when the fairy shore By the mirage is lifted in air; And we sometimes hear, throu(rlgh the turbulent roar, Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before, When the wind down the river is fair. 0! remembered for aye be the blessed isle, All the day of our life till night; When the evening comes with its beautiful smile, And our eyes are closing to slumber awhile, May that “Greenwood” of Soutl be in sight! BENJAMIN FRANKLIN TAYLOR. GIVE ME THE OLD. OLD WINE TO DRINK, OLD WOOD TO BURN, OLD BOOKS TO iREAD, AND OLD FRIENDS TO CONVERSE WITHI.

I. OLD wine to drink! Ay, give the slippery juice That drippeth from the grape thrown loose Within the tun: 598 Y0

Page 599 view page image

GIVE MIE TIlE OLD. Plucked from beneath the cliff Of sunny-sided Teneriffe, And ripened’neath the blink Of India’s sun! Peat whiskey hot, Tempered with well-boiled water! These make the long night shorter; Forgetting not Good stout old English porter. II. Old wood to burn! Ay, bring the hill-side beechl From where the owlets meet and screech, And ravens croak; The crackling pine, and cedar sweet; Bring too a clump of fi-agrant peat, Dug’neath the fern; The knotted oak, A fagot too, perhap, Whose bright flame, dancing, winking, Shall light us at our drinking; While the oozing sap Shall make sweet music to our thinking III. Old books to read! Ay, bring those nodes of wit, The brazen-clasped, the vellum-writ, Time-honored tomes! The same my sire scanned before, 599

Page 600 view page image

GIVE ME THE OLD. The same my grandsire thum The same his sire from colle The well-earned meed Of Oxford’s domes. Old HOMER blind, Old HORACE, rake ANACREO Old TULLY, PLAUTUS, TERE: Mort ARTHUR’S olden minstr Quaint BURTON, quainter SP And GERVASE MARKHAM’ S Nor leave behind The Holye Book by which IV. Old friends to talk! Ay, bring those chosen few, The wise, the courtly, and the true, So rarely found: Him for my wine, him for my stud, Him for my easel, distich, bud In mountain walk! Bring WALTER good, With soulfiul FRED, and learned WILL; And thee, my alter ego, (dearer still For every mood.) ROBERT HINCKLEY MIESSIXNGER. 600 we live and die.

Page 601 view page image

REST AND LABOR “Two hands upon the breast, Ald labor’s done; Two pale feet crossed in rest, The race is won; Two eyes with coin weights shut, And all tears cease; Two lips where grief is mute, Anger at peace!” So pray we oftentimes, mourning our lot; God in his kindness answereth not. “Two hands to work addrest, Aye for His praise; Two feet that never rest, Walking His ways; Two eyes that look above, Through all their tears; Two lips still breathing love, Not wrath, nor fears!” So pray we afterwards, low on our knees, Pardon those erring prayers! Father, hear these DINAlh MARIA MULOCH. 601

Page 602 view page image

HE STANDETH AT THE DOOR AND KNOCKETH. IN the silent midnight watches, List-thv bosom door! How it knocketh-knocketh - knocketh, Knocketh evermore! Say not’tis thy pulse’s beating: ‘Tis thy heart of sin; ‘Tis thy Saviour knocks, and crieth “Rise, and let me in! ” Death comes on with reckless footstep3, To the hall and hut: Think you Death will tarry, knocking, Where the door is shut? Jesus waiteth - waiteth - waiteth, But the door is fast; Grieved, away thy Saviour goeth; Death breaks in at last. Then’tis time to stand entreating Christ to let thee in: At the gate of Heaven beating, Wailing for thy sin. Nay I-alas, thou guilty creature I Hast thou, then, forgot? Jesus waited long to know thee; Now he knows thee not. ARTHUR CLEVELAND COXE. 602

Page 603 view page image

ffi GULF-WEED. A WEARY weed, tossed to and fro, Drearily drenched in the ocean brine, Soaring high and sinking low, Lashed along without will of mine; Sport of the spoom of the surging sea, Flung on the foam afar and anear, Mark my manifold mystery: Growth and grace in their place appear.

603

Page 604 view page image

EXHORTATION TO PRAYER. I bear round berries, gray and red, Rootless and rover though I be; My spangled leaves, when nicely spread, Arboresce as a trunkless tree; Corals curious coat me o’er, White and hard in apt array; ‘Mid the wild waves’ rude uproar, Gracefilly grow I, night and day. Hearts there are on the sounding shiore, Something whispers soft to me, Restless and roaming for evermore, Like this weary weed of the sea; Bear they yet on each beating breast The eternal type of the wondrous whole: Growth unfolding amidst unrest, Grace informing with silent soul. CORNF,LIUS

GEOIGE. FEVEIR. 4 EXHORTATION TO PRAYER. NOT on a prayerless bed, not on a prayerless bed Compose thy weary limbs to rest; For they alone are blest With balmy sleep Whom angels keep; Nor, though by care oppressed, Or anxious sorrow, 604

Page 605 view page image

EXHORTATION TO PRAYER. Or thought in many a coil perplexed For coming morrow, Lay not thy head On prayerless bed. For who can tell, when sleep thine eye shall close, That earthly cares and woes To thee may e’er return? Arouse, my soul! Slumber control, And let thy lamp burn brightly; So shall thine eyes discern Things pure and sightly; Taught by the Spirit, learn Never on prayerless bed To lay thine unblest head. Hast thou no pining want, or wish, or care, That calls for holy prayer? Has thy day been so bright That in its flight There is no trace of sorrow? And art thou sure to-morrow Will be like this, and more Abundant? Dost thou yet lay up thy store, And still make plans for more? Thou fool! this very night Thy soul may wing its flight. Hast thou no being than thyself more dear, That ploughs the ocean deep, 600

Page 606 view page image

THE GOOD GREAT MAN. And when storms sweep The wintry, lowering sky, For whom thou wak’st and weepest? 0, when thy pangs are deepest, Seek then the covenant ark of prayerl For He that slumbereth not is there: His ear is open to thy cry. 0, then, on prayerless bed Lay not thy thou(iltless head!

Arouse thee, weary soul, nor yield to slumber t Till in communion blest With the elect ye rest, Those souls of countless numbers And with them raise The note of praise, Reaching from Earth to Heaven: Chosen, redeemed, forgiven! So lay thy happy head, Prayer-crowned, on blessed bed. MARGARET

MERCE. THE GOOD GREAT MAN. How seldom, friend, a good great man inherits Honor and wealth, with all his worth and pains! It seems a story from the world of spirits When any man obtains that which he merits, Or any merits that which he obtains. 606 0

Page 607 view page image

DIRGE OF JEPHTHAH’S DAUGHTER. For shame, my friend! renounce this idle strain I What wouldst thou have a good great man obtain? Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain? Or heap of corses which his sword hath slain?

Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends. Hath hlie not always treasures, always friends, The good great man? Three treasures -love, and light, And calm thoughts, equable as infant’s breath; And three fast fiiends, more sure than day or night: Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. DIRGE OF JEPHTHAH’S DAUGHTER. SUNG BY THE

VIRGINS. O THOU, the wonder of all dayes! O paragon, and pearl of praise!

O virgin-martyr, ever blest Above the rest Of all the maiden traine! We come, And bring fresh strewings to thy tombe. Thus, thus, and thus, we compasse round Thy harmlesse and unhaunted ground! And as we sing thy dirge, we will The daffodill, And other flowers, lay upon The altar of our love, thy stone. 607 .0

Page 608 view page image

DIRGE OF JEPHTHAH’S DAUGHTER. Thou wonder of all maids, rest here! Of daughters all the dearest deare, The eye of virgins; nay, the queen Of this smooth green, And all sweet meades from whence we get The primrose and the violet! Too soone, too deare, did Jephthlah buy, By thy sad losse, our liberty; His was the bond and covenant, yet Thou paid’st the debt.

Lamented maid! he won the day, But for the conquest thou didst pay. Thy father brought with him along The olive branch, and victor’s song. He slew the Ammonites, we know: But to thy woe; And in the purchase of cur peace The cure was worse than the disease. For which obedient zeale of thine We offer here, before thy shrine, Our sighs for storax, teares for wine; And, to make fine And fresh thy herse-cloth, we will here Four times bestrew thee every yeare. Receive, for this thy praise, our teares I Receive this offering of our haires! Receive these christall vials, filled 608

Page 609 view page image

DIRGE OF JEPHTHAH’S DAUGHTER. With teares distilled From teeming eyes! To these we bring, Each maid, her silver filleting, To guild thy tombe.

Besides, these caules, These laces, ribbands, and these faules; These veiles, wherewith we use to hide The bashfull bride When we conduct her to her groome All, all we lay upon thy tombe! No more, no more, since thou art dead, Shall we e’er bring coy brides to bed; No more, at yearly festivalls, We cowslip balls, Or chaines of columbines, shall make For this or that occasion’s sake. No, no! our maiden pleasures be Wrapt in the winding-sheet with thee: ‘Tis we are dead, though not i’ th’ grave; Or if we have One seed of life left,‘tis to keep A Lent for thee -to fast and weep. Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice, And make this place all paradise! May sweets grow here, and smoke from hence Fat frankincense! Let balme and cassia send their scent From out thy maiden monument! 609

Page 610 view page image

j ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~4 4(4 t

Page 611 view page image

UNSEEN SPIRITS. May no wolfe howle, nor screech-owle stir A wing about thy sepulchre! No boysterous winds or storms come hither, To starve or wither Thy soft sweet earth; but, like a Spring, Love keep it ever flourishing!

May all shie maids, at wonted ho Come forth to strew thy tombe w May virgins, when they come to Male incense burn Upon thine altar; then return, And leave thee sleeping in thine urn! ROBERT HERRICK. UNSEEN

SPIRITS. THE shadows lay along Broadway: ‘Twas near the twilight-tide; And slowly there a lady fair Was walking in her pride. Alone walked she; but, viewlessly, Walked spirits at her side. Peace charmed the street beneath her feet, And Honor charmed the air; And all astir looked kind on her, And called her good as fair; For all God ever gave to her She kept with chary care. 611

Page 612 view page image

UUNSEEN SPIRITS. She kept with care her beauties rare From lovers warm and true; For her heart was cold to all but gold, And the rich came not to woo. But honored well are charms to sell, If priests the selling do. Now walking there was one more fair, A slight girl, lily-pale; And she had unseen company To make the spirit quail: ‘Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn, And nothing could avail. No mercy now can clear her brow For this world’s peace to pray; For, as love’s wild prayer dissolved in air, Her woman’s heart gave way. But the sin forgiven by Christ in Heaven By man is cursed alway! NATHANIEL PAR.KIER WILL1I& 612

Page 613 view page image

l ffi THE CROOKED FOOTPATH. AH, here it is! the sliding rail That marks the old remembered spot, 613

Page 614 view page image

THE CROOKED) FOOTPATH. The gap that struck our schoolboy trail, The crooked path across the lot. It left the road by school and churclh: A pencilled shadow, nothing more, That parted from the silver birch And ended at the farmhouse door. No line or compass traced its plan; Withl fiequent bends to left or rigolit, In aimless, wayward curves it ran, But always kept the door in sight. Thile gabled porch, with woodbine green, Tile broken millstone at the sill, Though many a rood might stretch between, The truant child could see them still. No rocks across the pathway lie, No fallen trunk is o’er it throvwn; And yet it winds, we know not whiy, And turns as if for tree or stone. Perhaps some lover trod the way, Withl shaking knees and leaping lieart; And so it often runs astray, Witlh sinuous sweep or sudden start. Or one, perchance, with clouded braill, From some unholy banquet reeled; And since, our devious steps maintain His track across the trodden field. 614

Page 615 view page image

THE CROOKED FOOTPATII. Nay, deem not thus: - no earth-born will Could ever trace a faultless line; Our truest stepls are human still, To waix unswerving were divine. Truants from love, we dream of wrath; 0. rather let us trust the more! Through all the wanderings of the patll, We still can see our Father’s door! OLIVER WENDEL,L HOLMES. INVOCATION OF SILENCE.

STILL-BORN Silence! thou that art Flood-gate of the deeper heart!

Offspring of a heavenly kind; Frost o’ the mouth, and thaw o’ the mind; Secrecy’s confidant, and he Who makes religion mystery; Admiration’s speaking’st tongue! Leave, thy desert shades among, Reverend hermnits’

hallowed cells, Where retired Devotion dwells: With thy enthusiasms come, Seize our tongues, and strike us dumb! RICIIARD FLECKNOE. 61,5 -

Page 616 view page image

A LI KE-WAKE DIRGE THIS ae nighte, this ae nighte, Everie nighte and alle, Fire, and selte, and candle-lighte; And Christe receive thy saule! When thou from hence away art past, Everie nighte and alle, To Whinny-muir thou comest at last; And Christe receive thy saule I If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon, Everie nighte and alle, Sit thee down and put them on; And Christe receive thy saule! If hosen and shoon thou gavest nane, Everie nighte and alle, The whinnes shall pricke thee to the bare bane; And Christe receive thy saule! From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe, Everie nighte and alle, To Brigg o’ Dread thou comest at last; And Christe receive thy saule! From Brigg o’ Dread when thou mayst passe, Everie nighte and alle, 616

Page 617 view page image

SONG. To Purgatory fire thou comest at last; And Christe receive thy saule! If ever thou gavest meate or drinke, Everie nighte and alle, The fire shall never make thee shrinke: And Christe receive thy saule! If meate or drinke thou gavest nane, Everie nighte and alle, The fire will burne thee to the bare bane; And Christe receive thy saule! This ae nighte, this ae nighte, Everie nighte and alle, Fire, and selte, and candle-lighte; And Christe receive thy saule! ANONYMOUS. SONG. SHE sat and sang alway By the green margin of a stream, Watching the fishes leap and play Beneath the glad sunbeam. I sat and wept alway Beneath the moon’s most shadowy beam, Watching the blossoms of the May Weep leaves into the stream. I wept for memory; She sang the hope that is so fair: My tears were swallowed by the sea; Her songs died on the air. ClI{]ISTINA G.

ROSSETTI. 617

Page 618 view page image

THE CROWDED STREET. LET me move slowly through the street. Filled with an ever-shifting train, Amid the sound of steps that beat The murmuring walks like autumn raim. How fast the flitting figures corme! The mild, the fierce, the stony face: Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and sonie Where secret tears have left their trace! They pass -to toil, to strife, to rest: To halls in which the feast is spread, To chambers where the funeral guest In silence sits beside the dead. And some to happy homes repair, Where children, pressing cheek to cheek With mute caresses, shall declare The tenderness they cannot speak. And some, who walk in calmness here, Shall shudder as they reach the door Where one who made their dwelling dear, Its flower, its light, is seen no more. 618

Page 619 view page image

THE CRIOW’DED STREET’. Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame, And dreams of greatness in thine eye, Go’st thou to build an early name, Or early in the task to die? Keen son of trade, with eager brow, Who is now fluttering in thy snare? Thy golden fortunes, tower they now? Or melt the glittering spires in air? Who of this crowd to-night shall tread The dance, till daylight gleams again? Who sorrow o’er the untimely dead? Who writhe in throes of mortal pain? Some, famine-struck, shall think how long The cold, dark hours-how slow the light; And some, who flaunt amid the throng, Shall hide in dens of shame to-night. Each where his tasks or pleasures call, They pass, and heed each other not; There is who heeds, who holds them all, In His large love and boundless thought. These struggling tides of life, that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend, Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end. WILLIAM

CULLEN BRYANT. 619

Page 620 view page image

THE WAR-SONG OF DINAS VAWIL THE mountain sheep are sweeter, But the valley sheep are fatter; We therefore deemed it meeter To carry off the latter.

We made an expedition; We met a host, and quelled it; We forced a strong position, And killed the men who held it. On Dyfed’s richest valley, Where herds of kine were browsing, We made a mighty sally, To furnish our carousing. Fierce warriors rushed to meet us; We met them, and o’erthrew them. They struggled hard to beat us; But we conquered them, and slew them. As we drove our prize at leisure, The king marched forth to catch us; His rage surpassed all measure, But his people could not match us. 620

Page 621 view page image

THE WVAR-SONG OF DINAS VAWRI He fled to his hall pillars; And, ere our force we led off, Some sacked his house and cellars, While others cut his head off. We there, in strife bewildering, Spilt blood enough to swim in: We orphaned many children, And widowed many women. The eagles and the ravens We glutted with our foemen: The heroes and the cravens, The spearmen and the bowmen. We brought away from battle, (And much their land bemoaned them), Two thousand head of cattle, And the head of him who owned them: Ednyfed, king of Dyfed, His head was borne before as; His wine and beasts supplied our feasts, His overthrow our chorus. THOMAS LOVE PEAcocK, 621

Page 622 view page image

MOTHER MARGERY. ON a bleak ridge, from whose granite edges Sloped the rough land to the grisly north, And whose hemlocks, clinging to the ledges, Like a thin banditti staggered forth: In a crouching, wormny-timbered hamlet Mother Margery shivered in the cold, With a tattered robe of faded camlet On her shoulders-crooked, weak, and old!

Time on her had done his cruel pleasure; For her face was very dry and thin, And the records of his growing measure Lined and cross-lined all her shrivelled skin. Scanty goods to her had been allotted, Yet her thanks rose ofteiner than desire; While her bony fingers, bent and knotted, Fed with withered twigs the dying fire. Raw and weary were the northern winters; Winds howled p)iteously around her cot, Or with rude silghs made the jarring splinters Moan the misery she bemoaned not. Drifting tempests rattled at her windows, And hung snow-wreaths round her naked bed; While the wind-flaws muttered on the cinders, Till the last spark fluttered and was dead. 622 0

Page 623 view page image

MIOTHER MARGERY. Life had fresher hopes when she was younger, But their dying wrung out no complaints; Chill, and penury, and neglect, and hlunger, These to Margery were guardian saints. When she sat, her head was, prayer-like, bending; When she rose, it rose not any more. Faster seemed her true heart graveward tending Than her tired feet, weak and travel-sore. She was mother of the dead and scattered, Had been mother of the brave and fair; But her branches, bough by bough, were shattered, Till her torn breast was left dry and bare. Yet she knew, though sadly desolated, When the children of the poor depart Their earthl-vestures are but sublimated, So to gather closer in the heart. With a courage that had never fitted Words to speak it to the soul it blessed, She endured, ill silence and unpitied, Woes enough to mar a stouter breast: Thus was born such holy trust within her That the graves of all who had been dear, To a region clearer and serener Raised her spirit from our chilly sphere. They were footsteps on her Jacob’s ladder; Angels to her were the loves and hopes Which had left her purified, but sadder; And they lured her to the emerald slopes 623

Page 624 view page image

6\MOTHER MARGERY. Of that Heaven where Anguish never flashes Her red fire-whips - happy land, where flowers Blossom over the volcanic ashes Of this blighting, blighted world of ours! All her power was a love of goodness; All her wisdom was a mystic faith That the rough world’s jargoning and rudeness Turn to music at the gate of Death. So she walked, while feeble limbs allowed her, Knowing well that any stubborn grief She might meet with could no more than crowd her To that wall whose opening was relief. So she lived, an anchoress of sorrow, Lone and peaceful, on the rocky slope; And, when burning trials came, would borrow New fire of them for the lamp of hope. When at last her palsied hand, in groping, Rattled tremulous at the grated tomb, Heaven flashed round her joys beyond her hoping, And her young soul gladdened into bloonm. GEORGE SHEPIHERD

BURLEIGH. 624

Page 625 view page image

LOUIS XV. THE king, with all the kingly train, had left his Pompadour be hind, And forth he rode in Senart’s wood, the royal beasts of chase to find. That day, by chance, the monarch mnused; and turning suddenly away, He struck alone into a path that far from crowds and courtiers lay. He saw the pale green shadows play upon the brown untrodden earth; He saw the birds around him flit, as if he were of peasant birth; He saw the trees, that know no king but him who bears a wood land axe; He thought not-but he looked about, like one who still in thinking lacks. Then close to him a footstep fell, and glad of human sound was lihe; For, truth to say, he found himself but melancholy comnpanie. But that which he would ne’er have guessed before him now most plainly came: The man upon his weary back a coffin bore of rudest frame. “Why, who art thou?” exclaimed the king; “and what is that I see thee bear?” “I am a laborer in the wood, and’tis a coffin for Pierre. 625

Page 626 view page image

LOUIS XV. Close by the royal hunting-lodge you may have often seen him toil; But he will never work again, and I for him must dig the soil.” The laborer ne’er had seen the king, and this he thought was but a man; Who made at first a moment’s pause, and then anew his talk be gan: ‘ I think I do remember now -he had a dark and glancing eye; And I have seen his sturdy arm with wondrous stroke the pickaxe ply. “Pray tell me, friend, what accident can thus have killed our good Pierre?” “0, nothing more than usual, sir: he died of living upon air. ‘Twas hunger killed the poor good man, who long on empty hopes relied; He could not pay gabelle and tax, and feed his children -so lihe died.” The man stopped short; and then went on -” It is, you know, a common storv: Our children’s food is eaten up by courtiers, mistresses, and glory.” The king looked hard upon the man, and afterwards the coffin eyed; Then spurred to ask, of Pompadour, how came it that the peasants died. JOHN STERLING. 626

Page 627 view page image

THE STORMING( OF MAGDEBURG]II. WHEN the breach was open laid, Bold we mounted to the attack: Five times the assault was made; Four times were we driven back! But the fifth time up we strode, O’er the dyiiing and the dead. Red the western sunbeams glowed, Sinking in a blaze of red; Redder in the gory way Our deep plaslung footsteps sank, As the cry of “Slay-Slay- Slav’” Echoed fierce fiom rank to rank. And we slew, and slew, and slew: Slew them with uinpitying sword. Negligently could we do The commanding of the Lord? Fled the coward, fought the brave, Wept the widow, wailed the child; But there did not’scape the glaive Man that frowned, nor babe that smniled. There were thrice ten thousand men When that morning’s sun arose; Lived not thrice three hundred when Sunk that sun at eveningr’s close. 627

Page 628 view page image

THE STORMIING OF MIAGDEBURGI(H. Tllei we spread tile wasting flame, Fed to fury by the wind: Of the city but thle name, Nothing else, remained behind. But it bin’nned not till it gave All it had to yield of spoil: bl1ul(t not brave soldadoes hlave Some rewarding for their toil? What the villain sons of trade Earned by years of toil and care, Prostrate at our bidding laid, In one moment woni-was there. Hall and palace, dome and tower, Lowly cot and soaring spire, Sank in that victorious hour Which consigned the town to fire. Then tlhroughllout the burning town, ‘Mid the steaming heaps of dead, Cieered by sound of hostile mloan, We the gorgeous banquet spread: Laughing loud and quaffing long, At our glorious labor o’er, To the skies our jocund song Told Magde burgh was no more!

WV11,i.LIAM 5AGINN. 628

Page 629 view page image

THE KING OF DENMARK’S RID)E. WORD was brought to the Danish king, (Hurry!) That the love of his heart lay suffering, 629

Page 630 view page image

TIIE KING OF DENMIARK’S RIDE. And pined for the comfort his voice would biling; (O! ride as thoug,h you were flying’) Better he loves each golden curl On the brow of that Scandinavian girl Than his rich crown-jewels of ruby and pearl; And his Rose of the Isles is dying. Tlhirty nobles saddled with speed (Hurry!) Eacll one mounted a gallant steed Whlichl he kept for battle an(l days of nee(l; (O! ride as thougll you were’lying!) Slu)s were struck in thle foamingi flank Worn-out cliargers sta(ggered an([ sank Bridles were slackened, and girtlis were hurst: But rile as they would, the kinig rode flist; For llis Rose of tle Isles lay dyinig. His nobles are beaten, one by olie; (Hu”y!) They lhave fainted, and faltered, and lion%ewt,l’d gone; His little ftiir l),age now follows alone, For strengthl and for courage trying. Tlhe king looked back at that faitlhfiul cllil(l Wan was the face that answering smileld. Tlhey l)assed the dr’awbridgTe with clattering ([lin Tlhen lie dropped; and only the king rode in Wlhere his Rose of the Isles lay dlying. The king blew a blast on llis bugle hlorl; (Silenlce!) 630

Page 631 view page image

TIE KING OF D)ENMARK’S RIDE. No answer came, but faint and forlorn An echo returned on the cold gray morn, Like the breath of a spirit sighing. The castle portal stood grimly wide None welcomed the king from that weary ride; For, dead in the light of the dawning day, The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, Who had yearned for his voice while dying. The panting steed with a drooping crest Stood weary. The king returned fiom her chamber of rest, The thick sobs chokiing in his breast; And, that dumb companion eyeing, The tears gushed forth, which he strove to check; He bowed his head on his chlarger’s neck: 0, steed, that every nerve didst strain, Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain, To the halls where my love lay dying ” CAROLINE; ELIZABETHT NORTON 631

Page 632 view page image

I (;IVE MY SOLDIER-BOY A BLADE. I GIVE my soldier-boy a blade, In fair Damascus fashioned well; Who first the glittering falchlion swayed, Who first beneath its fury fell, I know not; but I hope to know That for no mean or hireling trade, To guard no feeling base or low, I give my soldier-boy a blade. Cool, calm, and clear, the lucid flood In which its tempering work was done As calm, as clear, as cool of mood, Be thou whene’er it sees the sun For country’s claim, at Honor’s call, For outraged friend, insulted maid, At Mercy’s voice to bid it fall, I give my soldier-boy a blade. ‘The eye which marked its peerless edge, The hand that weighed its balanced poise, Anvil and pincers, forge and wedge, Are gone, with all their flame and noise; And still the gleaming sword remains: So, when in dust I low am laid, Remember, by these heart-felt strains, I gave my soldier-boy a blade. WILLIAM MAGINN. 632

Page 633 view page image

EVENTIDE. Go forth at eventide: Commune with thine own bosom and be still; Check tbe wild impulses of wayward will, And learn the nothingness of human pride. Morn is to act, noon to endure; But O’ if thou would’st keep thy spirit pure, Turn from the beaten path by worldlings trod, Go forth at eventide in heart to walk with God. EMMA C. EMIIURY. THE GRACE OF

SIMPLiICITrY. STILl, to be neat, still to be drest As you were going to a feast, Still to be powdered, still perfumed! Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art’s hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound.

Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free: Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. BEN

JONSON. 633 __

Page 634 view page image

THE SOLDIER’S DREAM. OUR bugles sang truce; for the nighlt-cloud had lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered: The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. Metliougllt from the battle-field’s dreadful array Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track: ‘Twas Autumn - and suinshine arose on the way To the home of my fathlers, that welcomed me back. I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft In life’s morningr marchl, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. lThen pledged we the winecup, and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little onies kissed me a thoisand times o’er, And my wife sobbed aloud in llher fulness of heart.

634

Page 635 view page image

IT IS NOT BEAUTY 1 DIEMNIANI). Stay, stay with us! -rest; thou art weary and worn And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay; But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, And the voice in imy dreaming ear melted away. THOMAS CAMPBELL. IT IS NOT BEAUTY I DEMAND. IT is not beauty I demand: A crystal brow, the moon’s despair; Nor the snow’s daughter, a white hand: Nor mermaid’s yellow pride of hair. Tell me not of your starry eyes; Your lips, that seem on roses fed; Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies, Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed; A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks, Like Hebe’s in her ruddiest hours; A breath that softer music speaks Than summer winds a-wooing flowers. These are but gauds; nay, what are lips? Corals beneath the ocean-stream, Whose brink when your adventurer slips, Full oft he perisheth on them. 635

Page 636 view page image

IT IS NOT BEAUTY I DEMAND. And what are cheeks, but ensigns oft, That wave hot youth to fields of blood? Did Helen’s breast, though ne’er so soft. Do Greece or Ilium any good? Eyes can with baleful ardor burn, Poison can breathe, that erst I)erfumed; There’s many a whate hand holds an urn, With lovers’ hearts to dust consunied. Fo-v crystal brows, there’s naught wvithin: They are but empty cells for pride; He whlo the Siren’s hair would win Is mostly strangled ill the tide. Give me, instead of beauty’s bust, A tender heart, a loyal mind, Which with temptation I would trust, Yet never linked with error find; One in whose gentle bosom I Could pour my secret heart of woes, Like the care-burdened honey-fly, That hides his murmurs in the rose; Miy earthly comforter! whose love So indefeasible might be, That whlen my spirit won above, Hers could not stay, for sympathy. THOMAS CAREW. 636

Page 637 view page image

THE BEGGAR’S COURAGE. To heaven approached a Sufi saint, From groping in the darkness late, And, tapping timidly and faint, Besought admission at God’s gate. Said God, “Who seeks to enter here? “‘T is I, dear Friend! “
the saint replied, And trembled much with hope and fear. ” If it be thou, without abide.” Sadly to earth the poor saint turned, To bear the scourging of life’s rods; But ave his heart within him yearned To mix and lose its love in God’s. He roamed alone through weary years, By cruel men still scorned and mocked, Until from faith’s pure fires andl tears Again he rose, and mnodest knocked. Asked God, “Who now is at the door?” “It is Thyself, beloved Lord!” Answered the saint - in doubt no more, But clasped and rapt in his reward. DSCHELLALEDDIN IlRTMI, (P(rsian.) Translation of WILLIAM ROUNSEVILLE ALGER. 6E37

Page 638 view page image

THE HAPPY LIFE. How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another’s will, Whose armor is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill! Whose passions not his mnasters are, Whose soul is still prepared for death-. Untied unto the worldly care Of public fame or private breath; Who envies none that chance dothl raise, Or vice; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise; Nor rules of state, but rules of good; Who hath his life from humors freed; Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make accusers great; Who God doth late and early pray More of His gria.e than gifts to lend And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend: This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall -

Lord of’ himself, though not of lands; And, having nothing, yet hath all.

SIit HE:NRY WOTTON. 638

Page 639 view page image

THE GIFTS OF GOD. WHEN God at first made man, Having a glass of blessings standing by, “Let its,” said He, “pour on him all we carn; Let the world’s riches, which dispersed lie, Contract into a span.” So strength first made a way; Then beauty flowed; then wisdom, honor, pleasure. When almnost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure, Rest in the bottom lay. “For if I should,” said He, “Bestow this jewel also on my creature, He would adore my gifts instead of me, And rest in Nature -not the God of Nature: So -both should losers be. “Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness; Let him be rich and weary-that, at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him, to my breast.” GEORGE HERBERT. 6 a‘9

Page 640 view page image

THE HYMN OF DAMASCENUS. FROM my lips in their defilement, From my heart in its beguilement, From my tongue which speaks not fair, From my soul stained everywhereO my Jesus, take my prayer! Spurn me not, for all it says: Not for words, and not for ways, Not for shamelessness indued! Make me brave to speak my mood, O my Jesus, as I would! Or teach me, which 1
rather seek, What to do and what to speak. I have sinned more than she Who, learning where to meet with Thee, And bringing myrrh the highest priced, Anointed bravely, firom her knee, Thy blessed feet accordinglyMy God, my Lord, my Christ! As Thou saidest not “Depart!” To that suppliant from her heart, Scorn me not, O Word, that art The gentlest one of all words said! But give Thy feet to me instead, 640

Page 641 view page image

THE HYMN OF DAMASCENUS. That tenderly I may them kis, And clasp them close; and never miss, With over-dropping tears, as free And precious as that myrrh could be, T’ anoint them bravely from my knee! Wash me with thy tears! draw nigh me, That their salt may purify me! Thou remit my sins, who knowest All the sinning, to the lowest Knowest all my wounds, and seest All the stripes Thyself decreest. Yea, but knowest all my faith, Seest all my force to death, Hearest all my wailings low That mine evil should be so! Nothing hidden but appears In Thy knowledge, O Divine, O

Creator, Saviour mine! Not a drop of falling tears, Not a breath of inward mnoan, Not a heart-beat -which is gone! ST. JOANNES DAMAASOEN7. (Greek.) rranslation of ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNINqG. 641

Page 642 view page image

A THANKSGIVING. LORD, for the erring thought Not unto evil wrought; Lord, for the wicked will Betrayed and baffled still; For the heart from itself kept: Our Thanksgiving accept! For ignorant hopes that were Broken to our blind prayer; For pain, death, sorrowsent Unto our chastisement; - For all loss of seeming good: Quicken our gratitude! WILLIAM I)EA N iOWELLS.

EXCELSIOR. THF shades of night were fallirg fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youtn, who bore,‘mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device Excelsior! His brow was sad; his eye beneath Flashed like a falchion from its sheath: 642 .0

Page 643 view page image

EXCELSIOR. And like a silver clarion rung The a.ccents of that unknown tongue Excelsior! In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright; Above, the spectral glaciers shone, And from his lips escaped a groan Excelsior! “Try not the pass!” the old man said: “Dark lowers the tempest overhead; The roaring torrent is deep and wide! ” And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior! “O stay!” the maiden said, “and rest Thy weary head upon this breast!” A tear stood in his bright blue eye, But still he answered, with a sigh, Excelsior! “Beware the pine-tree’s withered branch! Beware the awful avalanche!” This was the peasant’s last good-nig,ht; A voice replied, far up the height, Excelsior!

At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of St. Bernard 643

Page 644 view page image

THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDAS. Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried, through the startled ait, Excelsior! A traveller, by the faithful hound, Half-buried in the snow was found, Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device Excelsior! There, in the twilight cold and gray, Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay; And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a falling star Excelsior! HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE

EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDAS. WHERE the remote Bermnudas ride In th’ ocean’s bosom unespied, From a small boat, that rowed along, The listening winds received this song: What should we do but sing His praise That led us through the watery maze Unto anl isle so long unknown, And yet far kinder than our own? Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks That lift the deep upon their backs, He lands us on a grassy stage, 644

Page 645 view page image

THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDAS. Safe from the storms, and prelate’s rage. He gave us this eternal spring Which here enamels every thing, And sends the fowls to us in care, On daily visits through the air. He hangs in shades the orange bright, Like golden lamps in a green night, And does in the pomegranates close Jewels more rich than Ormus shows. He makes the figs our mouths to meet, And throws the melons at our feet; But apples-plants of such a price No tree could ever bear them twice With cedars, chosen by His hand From Lebanon, He stores the land; And makes the hollow seas, that roar, Proclaim the ambergris on shore. He cast (of which we rather boast) The Gospel’s pearl upon our coast; And in these rocks for us did frame A temple, where to sound His name. O! let our voice His praise exalt Till it arrive at heaven’s vault; Wliich then, perhaps rebounding, may Echo beyond the Mexique bay. Thus sang they, in the English boat, A holy and a cheerful note; And all the way, to guide their chime, Witlh falling oars they kept the time. ANDIZEW M5ARVELL. 645

Page 646 view page image

\ THE SIN(;ERS. GoD sent his singers upon earthl WVith songs of sadness and of mirth, 646 elcit., 1,. Cro

Page 647 view page image

L~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-~I. I~ i %- I 11 I %A t~tu 4 JaQ~ s

Page 648 view page image

THE SINGERS. That they might touch the hearts of men, And bring them back to heaven again. The first, a youth with soul of fire, Held in his hand a golden lyre; Through groves he wandered, and by streams, Playing the music of our dreams. Tile second, with a bearded face, Stood singing in the market-place, And stirred, with accents deep and loud, The hearts of all the listening crowd. A gray old man, the third and last, Sang in cathedrals dim and vast, While the majestic organ rolled Contrition friom its mouths of gold. And those who heard the Singers three Disputed which the best might be; For still their music seemed to start Discordant echoes in each heart. But the great Master said, “I see No best in kind, but in degree; I gave a various gift to each: To charm, to strengthen, and to teach. “These are the three great chords of might; And he whose ear is tuned aright Will hear no discord in the three, But the most perfect harmony.” HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 648

Page 649 view page image

THE MARINER’S WIFE. AND are ye sure the news is true? And are ye sure he’s weel? Is this a time to talk o’ wark? Ye jades, fling by your wheel! For there’s nab luck about the house, There’s nae luck ava; There’s little pleasure in the house W’hen our gudeman’s awa’. Is this a time to think o’

wark, When Colin’s at the door? Rax down my cloak I’ll to the quay, And see him come ashore. lRise up and mak a clean fireside, Put on the muckle pot, Gie little Kate her cotton gown, And Jock his Sunday coat; And mak their shoon as black as slaes, Their hose as white as snaw; It’s a’ to please my ain gudeman, He likes to see them braw. There’s twa fat hens into the crib, Been fed this month and mair; 649

Page 650 view page image

MARINER’S WIFE. Mak haste and thra their necks about, Tlhat Colin weel may fare. And sprea(l the table neat and cleai, Gar ilka thing look braw; It’s a’ for love of my gudeman, For he’s been lang awa’. O gie me down my bigonet, My bishlop-satin gown, And rin and tell thle baillie’s wife, Tlhat Colin’s come to town. My Sunday shioon they maun gae oil, My hose o’

pearl blue; It’s a’ to please my ain gudeman, For he’s baith leal and true. Sac true hils words, sae smooth his speech, His breath like caller air! His very foot has music in’t, When he comes up the stair. And wvill I see his face again? And will I hear him speak? I’m downright dizzy with the thought: In troth I’m like to greet. The cauld blasts of the winter wind That thrilled through my heart, 650

Page 651 view page image

THE MARINER’S WIFE. They’re a’ blawn by; I hae him sate: Till death we’ll never part. Bitt what puts parting in my head? It may be far awa’: The present moment is our ain; The neist we never saw. Since Colin’s weel, I’m weel content: I hae nae mair to crave; Could I but live to mak him blest, I’m blest aboon the lave. And will I see his face again? And will I hear him speak? I’m downright dizzy with the thought: In troth I’m like to greet. WILLIAM JUT IUb MICKLE. 661

Page 652 view page image

TIBBIE. 0 TIBpBIE, I hae seen the day Ye wadna been sae shy! For laik o’

gear ye Iightly me; But, trowthl, I carena by. Yestreen I met you on the moor: Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure. Ye geck at me because I’in poor’ But fient a hair care I. 652 I

Page 653 view page image

fIBBlE. I doubtna, lass, but ye may think, Because ye hae the name o’

clink, That ye can please me at a wink, .Whene’er ye like to try; But sorrow tak him that’s sae mean, Although his pouch o’ coin were clean, Wha follows ony saucy quean That looks sae proud and high. Althoulgh a lad were ne’er sae smai’t. If that he want the yellow dirt Ye‘11 cast your head anither airt, And answer him fu’ dry; But if hlie hae the name o’

gear Ye‘11 fasten to him like a brier, Though hardly he, for sense or leai, Be better than the kye. But, Tibbie lass, tak my advice: Your daddy’s gear maks you sae nice; The deil a ane wad spier your price, Were ye as poor as I. There lives a lass in yonder park, I wadna gie her in her sark For thee, wi’ a’ thy thousan’ mark Ye needna look sae high! 653

Page 654 view page image

WHEN THE SULTAN GOES TO ISPAHAN. 0 lbbie, I hae seen the day Ye wadna been sae shy! For laik o’ gear ye lightly me; But, trowth, I carena by. ROBERT

BURNS WHEN THE SULTAN GOES TO ISPAHAN. WHiiEN the Sultan Shah-Zaman Goes to the city Ispahan, Even before hlie gets so far As the place where the clustered palm-trees are, At the last of the thirty palace gates, The pet of the harem, Rose-in-Bloom, Orders a feast in his favorite room: Glittering squares of colored ice, Sweetened with syrup, tinctured with spice; Creams, and cordials, and sugared dates; Syrian apples, Othmanee quinces, Limes, and citrons, and apricots; And wines that are known to Eastern princes. And Nubian slaves, with smoking pots Of spiced meats and costliest fish, And all that the curious palate could wish, Pass in and out of the cedarn doors. Scattered over mosaic floors Are anemones, myrtles, and violets; And a musical fountain throws its jets Of a hundred colors into the air. The dusk Sultana loosens her hair, 654 .0

Page 655 view page image

WHEN THE SULTAN GOES TO ISPAHAN. And stains with the hlenna-plant the tilps Of her pearly nails, and bites her lips Till they bloom again; but alas, that rose Not for the Sultan buds and blows! Not for the Sultan Shah-Zaman When he goes to the city Ispahan. Then, at a wave of her sunny hand, Tile dancing-girls of Samarcand Float in like mists from Fairy-land!

And to the low voluptuous swoons Of music rise and fall the moons Of their full, brown bosoms. Orient blood Runs in their veins, shines in their eyes; And there in this Eastern paradise, Filled with the fiumes of sandal-wood, And Khoten musk, and aloes and myrrlh, Sits Rose-in-Bloom on a silk divan, Sipping the wines of Astrakhan; And her Arab lover sits with her. That’s when the Sultan Shah-Zaman (Goes to the city Ispahan. Now, when I see an extra light Flaming, flickering on the night, From my neighbor’s casement opposite, I know as well as I know to pray, I know as well as a tongue can say, That the innocent Sultan Shah-Zaman FLas gone to the city Ispahan. THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. 656

Page 656 view page image

THE ANGEL. I DREAMED a dream -what can it nlean? And that I was a maiden queen, Guarded by an Angel mild: Witless woe, was ne’er beguiled! And I wept both night and day, And lie wiped my tears away; And I wept both day and niiiltt, And hid from him my heart’s delight. So hle took his wings and led. Then the morn blushed rosy red, I dried my tears, and armed my teals With ten thousand shields and spears. Soon my Angel came again: I was armed - he came in vain; For the time of youth was fled, And gray hairs were on my head. WILLIAM BLAKE. 656

Page 657 view page image

,4~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I w t ec$ ,4, ) c,;/ a, -cI 4; /4 %e ~oz __P 8

Page 658 view page image

MY LADY SINGING. SHE whom this heart must ever hold most dear (This heart in happy bondage held so long) Began to sing. At first a gentle fear Rosied her countenance - for she is young, And he who loves her most of all was near; But when at last her voice grew full and strong, 0, from their ambush sweet, how rich and cleai Bubbled the notes abroad-a rapturous throng! Her little hands were sometimes flung apart, And sometimes palm to palm together prest, Whilst wave-like blushes, rising from her breast, Kept time with that aerial melody, As music to the sight!-I, standing nigh, Received the falling fountain in my heart. AUBREy DE VERE. TUE SWORD OF CASTRUCCIO CASTRUCANI. “Questa e per me.” WHEN

Victor Emmanuel, the king, Went down to his Lucca that day. Thle people, each vaunting the thing As he gave it, gave all things away In a burst of fierce gratitude, sayAs they tore out their hearts foi the king: 658

Page 659 view page image

THiE WORD OF CASTRUCCIO CASTRUCANI Gave the green forest-walk on the wall, With the Appenine blue through the treesGave palaces, churches, and all The great pictures which burn out of these. But the eyes of the king seemed to freeze, As he glanced upon ceiling and wall. ” Good T ” said the king as he past. Was he cold to the arts? -or else coy To possession? -or crossed at the last, Whispered some, by the vote in Savoy? Shout!- Love him enough for his joy! “1 Good! ” said the king as hle past. He, travelling the whole day tlirouio’h flowers A,d protesting amenities, found At Pistoia, betwixt the two showers Of red roses, ” the Orphans”

(renowned As the heirs of Puccini), who wound With a sword through the crowd and the flowers. “‘T is the sword of Castruccio, 0 king! [Il old strife of intestinal hate Very famous. Accept what we bring We, who cannot be sons by our fate, Rendered citizens by thee of late, And endowed with a country and cking. ,Read:  Puccini has willed that this sword (Which once made, in an ignorant feud, Many orphans) remain in our ward 659

Page 660 view page image

SONG OF ARIEL. Till some patriot its pure civic blood Wipe away in the foe’s and make good, In delivering the land by the sword.” Then the king exclaimed, “This is for me! ” And he dashed out his sword on the hilt While his blue eye shot fire openly, And his heart overboiled till it spilt A hot prayer:” God! the rest as Tho, wilt! But grant me this - this is for me! ” 0 Victor Emmanuel the king! The swnord he for thee, and the deed! And nought for the alien, next Spring, Nought for Hapsburg and Bourbon agroe,l; But for us, a great Italy fieed, With a hero to head us -
our King! EL,IZABFTH B,,ItRETT’ BaOWNINO. SONG OF ARIEL. FULL fathom five thy father lies Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes; Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-iiymphs hourly ring his knell: Hark! now I hear them-ding, doug, bell! SHAKSPEARg 660 .0 -

Page 661 view page image

THE PARTING LOVERS. SHE says, The cock crows-hark! He says, No! still’t is (darx. She says, The dawn grows bright; he says, 0 no, my Light! She says, Stand up! and say, Gets not the heaven gray v He says, The morning star Clinibs the horizon’s bar. She says, Then quick depart: Alas! you now must start. But give the cock a blow Wlho did begin our woe’ ANONYMOUS, (Chinese.) I’ranslation of WILLIAM ROUNSF.VILLE ALGER. THE, RAVEN. ONCE, upon a midnight dreary, While I pondered, weak and wear-. Over many a quaint and curious Volume of forgotten lore, 661

Page 662 view page image

THE RAVEN. While I nodded, nearly napping, Suddenly there camne a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, Rapping at my chamber door. “‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “Tapping at my chamber door, Only this, and nothing more.” All, distinctly I remember! It was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember Wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; Vainly I had tried to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow, Sorrow for the lost Lenore, For the rare and radiant maiden Whom the angels name Lenore, Nameless here for evermore. And the silken, sad, uncertain Rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic Terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating Of my heart, I stood repeating,“‘Tis some visitor entreating Entrance at my chamber door, Some late visitor, entreating Entrance at my chamber door, This it is, and nothing more.” 662

Page 663 view page image

THE RAVEN. Presently my soul grew stronger; Hesitating then no longer, “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly Your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, And so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, Tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you;”

Here I opened wide the door: Darkness there, and nothing more! Deep into that darkness peering, Long I stood there wondering, fearing Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal Ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, And the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken Was the whispered word “Lenore l” This I whispered, and an eciho Murmured back the word “Lenort, “, Merely this, and nothing more. Then into the chamber turning, All my soul within me burning, Soon I heard again a tapping, Somewhat louder than before: “Surely,” said I, ” surely that is Something at my window latticeLet me see, then, what thereat is, 663

Page 664 view page image

THE RAVEN. And this mystery explore; Let my heart be still a moment, And this mystery explore: ‘Tis the wind, and nothing more ” Open here I flung the shutter, VWhen, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven Of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he, Not an instant stopped or stayed lie; But, with mnien of lord or lady, Perched above my chamber door, Perched upon a bust of Pallas Just above my chamber door: Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this enony bird beguiling My sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorumn Of the countenance it wore, “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, Thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, Wandering friomn the Nightly shore; Tell me wiat thy lordly name is Oil the Nighlt’s Plutonian shore!” Quoth the raven “Nevernnore.” Much I marvelled this itiigainly Fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 664

Page 665 view page image

THE RAVEN. Though its answer little meaning, Little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing That no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing Bird above his chamber door, Bird or beast upon the sculptured Bust above his chamber door, With such name as “Nevermore.” But tle raven.

sitting lonely On the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in That one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered, Not a feather then he fluttered; Till I scarcely more than muttered, ; Other friends have flown before; On the morrow he will leave me, As my hopes have flown before.” Then the bird said “Nevermore.’ Startled at the stillness broken By reply so aptly spoken, “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters Is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master, Whom unmercifuil Disaster Followed fast and followed faster, Till his songs one burden bore, Till the dirges of his hope the 665

Page 666 view page image

THE RAVEN. Melancholy burden bore Of’Never-nevermore.’” But the raven still beguiling All my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in Front of bird, and bust and door Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking What this ominous bird of yore, What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, Gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking “Nevermore.” This I sat engaged in guessing, But no syllable expressing To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now Burned into my bosom’s core; This, and more, I sat divining, With my head at ease reclining On the cushion’s velvet lining Th,it the lamplight gloated o’er; But whose velvet violet lining, With the lamplight gloating o’er, She shall press-ah, nevermore! Then, methlought, the air grew denser, Perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by angels, whose faint footfalls Tinkled on the tufted floor. 066

Page 667 view page image

THE RAVEN. “Wretch!” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee, By these angels he hath sent thee, Respite-respite and nepenthe From thy memories of Lenore!

Quaff, 0 quaff this kind nepenthe, And firget this lost Lenore!” Quothl the raven “Nevermore.” “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil I Prophet still, if bird or devil! Whether tempter sent, or whether Tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, On this desert land enchanted, On this home by Horror haunted, Tell me truly, I implore: Is there, is there balm in Gilead? Tell me - tell me, I implore I Quoth the raven “Nevermore.” “Prophet! ” said I, “thing of evil I Prophet still, if bird or devil! By that heaven that bends above us, By that God we both adore, Tell this soul with sorrow laden If, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden Whom the angels name Leno’c, Clasp a rare and radiant maidei Whom the angels name Lenore. Quoth the raven “Nevermore.7 6

6s 0

Page 668 view page image

‘I’HIE RAVEN. ile thlat word our sign of parting, Bird or fiend! ” I slhrieked(l, iupstarting; “Get tihee back ijto the tempest And thle Nig(Ilt’s Plutitonian shore l,eave no black plume as a token Of tlhat lie tliy soul liatli spoken l,eave my loneliness unbroken! Quit thle bust above my door! Take thly beak firom out my lieart, And take thiy form from off my door’. Qliotli tlhe raven ” Nevermore.” And(l thle raven, never flittiing, Still is sitting, still is sitting On tile pallid bust of Pallas Just above my claimber door; An(l his eyes have all tile seeming, Of.a demon’s that is (lrecamin(rg, And thle lampligit, o’er ]him streaming, Tir,ows hlis slhadow on the floor; And mv soul from out tlhat shad(ow Tlhat lies floating on the flooi S jalil be lifted-nevermore l EDGAR AlLLAN POF G668

Page 669 view page image

THE SABBATH MORNING. ffifflffi fl ffiffiffiffi WITH silent awe I hail the sacred morn, Tllat slowly wakes while all the fields are still A soothing calm on every breeze is borne; A graver imurmur gil,(,les from the rill, 669

Page 670 view page image

SONNET: ON HIS BLINDNESS. And Echo answers softer from the hill, And softer sings the linnet from the thorn The skylark warbles in a tone less shrill. Hail, light serene! hail, sacred Sabbath morn Thle rooks float silent by, in airy drove; The sky a placid yellow lustre throws; The gales, that lately sighed aiong the grove, Have hushed their downy wings i. dead repose The hovering rack of clouds forgets to move: So soft the day when the first morn arose. JOHN LEYDEN. SONNET: ON HIS BLINDNESS.

WIHEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days in this dark world and wide; And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more beint To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he, returning, chide - Dothl God exact d(ay-labor, light denied?” I fondly ask; but Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies: “God doth not need Either man’s work, (ir his own gift; who best Bear his mild yoke, thev serve him best; his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, And post o’er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait.” JOTIN MIL.TON. 670

0

Page 671 view page image

To) KEEP A TRUE LENT. Is this a fast: to keep The larder lean. And clean From fat of veals and sheep? Is it to quit the dish Of flesh, yet still To fill The platter hilgh with fish? Is it to fast an hour? Or ragged to go: Or show A downcast look, and sour? No!‘t is a fast to dole Thyl sheaf of wheat, And meat, Unto the hungry soul. It is to fast from strife, From old debate And hateTo circumcise thy life. 671

Page 672 view page image

THE EMIGRANTS. To show a heart grief-rent: To starve thy sin, Not binAnd that’s to keep thy lent. ROBERI [IEItICI. THE EMIGRANTS. I CANNOT’ take my eyes away From you, ye busy, bustling band! Your little all to see you lay, Each, in the waiting seaman’s hand. Ye men, who from your necks set down The lheavv basket on the earth, Of bread from German corn, baked blowI) By German wives on German heartll! Aliid you, with braided queues so neat, Black-Forest maidens, slim and brown, How careful on the sloop’s green seat You set your pails and pitchers down! All! oft have hlome’s cool, shady tanks These pails and pitchers filled for you! On far Missouri’s silent banks Shall these the scenes of homne renew: Tlhe stone-rimmed fount in village street, Thlat, as ye stooped, betrayed your smiles; 672 .0

Page 673 view page image

TIlE EMIGRANT’S. The hearth, and its familiar seat; The mantel and the pictured tiles. Soon, in the far and wooded West, Shall log-llouse walls therewith be grace(; Soon many a tired, tawny guest Shall sweet refreshment from them taste, From them shall drink the Cherokee, Faint with the hot and dusty chase; 673 I/

Page 674 view page image

THE EMIGRANTS. No more from German vintage ye Shall bear them home, in leaf-crowned grace. O say, whiy seek ye other lands? The Neckar’s vale hath wine and corn; Full of dark firs the Schwarzwald stands; In Spessart rings the Alp-herd’s horn. Ah! in strange forests how ye‘11 yearn For the green mountains of your homeTo Deutschlland’s yellow wheat-fields turn. In spirit o’er her vine-hills roamr! How will the form of days grown pale In golden dreams float softly by! Like some unearthly, mystic tale, ‘T will stand before fond memory’s eye. The boatman calls I - Go hence in peace!

God bless ye, man and wife and sire! Bless all your fields with rich increase, And crown each true heart’s pure desire; FERDTIAND FnX1LIcRATH.

((Germaii.) Translation,f CHARxs T. BRooans. 674

Page 675 view page image

SONG OF FAIRIES. WE the fairies, blithlie and antic, Of dimensions not gigantic, Though the moonshine mostly keep us. Oft in orchards frisk and peep its. Stolen sweets are always sweeter’ Stolen kisses much completer; Stolen looks are nice in chapels: Stolen, stolen be your apples. When to bed the world are bobbing, Then’s the time for orchard-robbing; Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling Were it not for stealing, stealing. THOM
kS RANDOLPH. (Latin.) rranslation of LEIGH HUNT. SIR PETER. IN his last bin Sir Peter lies, Who knew not whlat it wats to frown; Death took him mellow, by surprise, And in his cellar stopped him down. Through all our land we could not boast A knight more gay, more prompt than he To rise and fill a bumper toast, And pass it round with ” Three times Three! 675 0.

Page 676 view page image

ARMSTRONG’S GOOD-NIGHT. None better knew the feast to sway, Or keep mirth’s boat in better trim; For Nature had but little clav Like that of which she moulded him. The meanest guest that graced his board Was there the freest of the free, His bumper toast when Peter poured And pased it round with “Three times Three ” He kept at true good humor’s mnaric The social flow of pleasure’s tide; He never made a brow look dark, Nor caused a tear but when he died. No sorrow round his tomb should dwell: More pleased his gay old ghost would be, For funeral song and passing bell, To hear no sound but “Three times Three I ” THOMAS LoVE PEACOCi ARMSTRONG’S

GOOD-NIGHT. THas night is my departing night, For here nae langer must I stay; There’s neither friend nor foe o’ mine But wishes me away. What I have done thro’ lack o’ wit I never, never can recall. I hope ye’re a my friends as yet: Good-jiight I And joy be wi’ you al I ANONYMOUS. 676 -.,.

Page 677 view page image

THE SENTRY. MY heart, my heart is weary; Yet merrily beams the May, And I lean against the linden, High up on the terrace gray. The town-moat far below me Runs silent and sad and blue: A boy in a boat floats o’er it, Still fishing and whistling too. Aknd a beautiful varied picture Spreads out beyond the flood: Fair houses, and gardens, and people, And cattle, and meadow, and wood. Young maidens are bleaching the linen: ‘They laugh as they go and come; And tne mill-wheel is dripping with dianmo,ds - I list to its far-away hum. And high on yon old gray castle A sentry-box peeps o’er, While a young red-coated sold;or Is pacing beside the door.

677

Page 678 view page image

THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US. He handles his shining musket, Which gleams in the sunlight red; He halts, he presents, he shoulders I wish that he’d shoot me dead! HEINRICH HEINE. (German.) Translation of CHARLES GODFREY

LELAND. THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US. THE world is too much with us: late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers. Little we see in nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away-a sordid booin! This Sea that bares her bosom to the mnoon, The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowersFor this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not.-Great God! I’d rather be A Pagan, suckled in a creed outworn; So iniglt I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlornIHave sight of Proteus rising from the sea, Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horln.

WILLIAMf WORDSWORTITl 678

Page 679 view page image

SONG. PACK, clouds, away! and wvelcome, dayv’ Witl night we baiiisii sorrowV 679

Page 680 view page image

SONG. Sweet air, blow soft! nioiint, lark, aloft I To give my love good-morrow. Wings from the wind to please her mind, Notes from the lark I‘11 borrow; Bird, prune thy wing! nightingale, sing! To give my love good-morrow: To give my love good-morrow Notes from them all I‘11 borrow.

Wake from thy nest, robin redbre.,t I Sing, birds, in every furrow! And from each hill let music shrill Give my fair love good-morrow. Blackbird and thrush in every bush, Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow: You pretty elves, among yourselves, Sing my fair love good-morrow, To give my love good-morrow Sing. birds. in every furrow I THOMAS HEYWOOD. 680

Page 681 view page image

1IOW SLEEP’THE BRAVE. IHow sleep the brave, who sink to rest By all their country s wishies blest I When Spring, with dewy fingers coid. Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy’s feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is suting; There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dweii, a weeping hermit, there WILLIAM COLLINS SONG. TIE lark now leaves his watery nest, And climbing, shakes his dewy wings; He takes this window for the east, And, to implore your light, he sings. Awake! awake!-the Morn will never rise Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes. 681 4- -

Page 682 view page image

JO IDEJE LEMENT A NAP. The merchant bows unto the seaman’s star, The ploughman from the sun his season takes; But still the lover wonders what they are Who look for day before his mistress wakes. Awake, awake!-break through your veils of lawn! Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn.

SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT JO IDEJE LEMENT A NAP. ATin the earth is wrapped in shadows, And the dews have drenched the meadows, And the moon has ta’en her station, And the midnight rules creation. Wherllre is my beloved staying? In her chamber, kneeling(r, praying. Is she praying for her lover? Then her heart is flowing over. [i.y beloved! is she keeping Watch, or is she sweetly sleeping? If she dream, her dreams are surely Of the one she loves so purely. If she sleep not, if she pray not, If to listening ear she say naught Thought with thought in silence linking, 0, I know of whom she’s thinking! Think, O think of me, sweet angel, Rose of life, and love’s evangel 682 Y

Page 683 view page image

ECHO AND SILENCE. All the thoughts that melt or move tlee( Are like stars that shine above thee; And while shining, to the centre Of thy spirit’s spirit enter, And there light a flame supernalLike eternal love, eternal.

ALEXANDER PETOFI. (Hungarian.) Translation oi SIR JOHN BowRING. ECIIO AND

SILENCE. I.- eddying course when leaves began to fly, And Autumn in her lap the store to strew, As mid wild scenes I chanced the Muse to woo, Through glens untrod and woods that fiowned on iiigh, Two sleeping nymphs, withl wonder mute, I spy: And lo! she’s gone - in robe of dark green hue, ‘T was Echo from her sister Silence flew; For quick the hunter’s horn resounded to the sky. In shade aftrighted Silence melts away. Not so her sister - hark! for onward still, With far-heard step, she takes her listening way, Bounding from rock to rock, and hill to hill: Ah! mark the merry maid, in mockful play, With thousand mimic tones the laughing forest fills I SIR EG’E TON BRYDGES. 683

Page 684 view page image

THE SABBATH. FRESH glides the brook, and blows tile gale, Yet yonder halts the quiet mill! The whirring wheel, the rushing sail, How motionless and still! Six days of toil, poor child of Cain, Thy strength the slave of want may be; The seventh thy limbs escape the chain - A God hath made thee free! Ahl I tender was the law that gave This holy respite to the breastT’o breathe the gale, to watch the wave, And know the wheel may rest! But where the waves the gentlest glide What image charms, to lift thine eyes? The spire reflected on the tide Invites thee to the skies. To teach the soul its nobler worth This rest from mortal toils is given: Go, snatch the brief reprieve from earth, And pass - a guest to heaven! 684

Page 685 view page image

ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CIIAPMAN’S IIOMER. They tell thee, in their dreaming school, Of power from old dominion burled, When rich and poor, with juster rule, Shall share the altered world. Alas! since time itself began, That fable hath but fooled the hour; Each age that ripens power in man But subjects man to power. Yet every day in seven, at least, One bright republic shall be known: Man’s world awhile hath surely ceased When God proclaims His own! Six days may rank divide the poor, O Dives, from thy banquet-hall! The seventh the Father opes the door, And holds His feast for all! EDWARD BULWER LYTTON. ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN’S HOMEN1.

MUCH have I travelled in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne; 685 .6

Page 686 view page image

686( ON FIRST LOOKIN(; INTO CHAPMAN’S HOMER. Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Cllapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of tllhe skies When a new% planet siimns into llis ken; Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific; and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmiseSilent, upon a peak in Darien. JoIIN KEATS. -.

Page 687 view page image

THE MAKING OF MAN. BEFORE the beginning of years There came to the making of mani, Time, with a gift of tears; Grief, with a glass that ran; Pleasure, with pain for leaven; Summer, with flowers that fell Remembrance, fallen from heaven, And madness, risen from hlell Strength, without hands to smite; Love, that endures for a breatl; Night, the shadow of light, And life, the shadow of deathl. And the high gods took in hland Fire, and the falling of tears, And a measure of sliding sand From under the feet of the years, And froth and drift of the sea; And dust of the laboring earth; And bodies of things to be In the houses of death and of birtlh; And wrought with weeping and laughter, And fashioned with loathling and loves With life before and after And death beneath and above, 87

Page 688 view page image

THE MAKING OF MAN. For a day and a night and a morrow, That his strength might endure for a sl)pan With travail and heavy sorrow, The holy spirit of man. From the winds of the north and tlhe south They gathered as unto strife They breathed upon his mouth, They filled his body with life; Eyesight and speech they wrought For the veils of the soul tlierein, A time for labor and thought, A time to serve and to sill; They gave him light in his ways, And love, and a space for delighlt, And beauty, and length of days, And night, and sleep in the night. His speech is a burning fire; With his lips hlie travailetlih; In his heart is a blind desire, In his eyes foreknowledge of death; He weaves, and is clothed with derision Sows, and he shall not reap; His life is a watch or a vision Between a sleep and a sleep. ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE 688

Page 689 view page image

ififfiffiffiffiffi CALM IS THIE NIGHT. CALM is tile night, and the city is sleeping. Once in this house dwelt a lady fair; Long, long ago, she left it, weeping But still the old house is standing there. Yonder a man at the heavens is staring, Wring(ing, his hands as in sorrowfill case; (iv9

Page 690 view page image

IF I DESIRE WITH PLEASANT SONGS. He turns to the moonlight, his countenance baring 0 Heavenle! he shows me nmy own sad face! Shadowy forin, with my own agreeing! Why mockest thou thus, in the moonlight cold, The sorrows which here once vexed my being, Many a night ill the days of old? HEINRICH HI:iNxE. (German.) Translation of CHARI~ES GODFREY LELAND.

IF I DESIRE WITH PLEASANT SONGS. IF I desire with pleasant songs To throw a merry hour away,v Comes Love unto-nme, and my wrongs In careful tale he doth display, And asks me how I stand for singing While I my helpless hands am wringing. And then another time, if I A noon in shady bowei would pass, Comes he withl stealthy gesture sly, .nd flinging down ul)on the grass, Quoth he to me: My master dear, Think of this noontide such a year!

And if elsewhile I lay mny head On pillow, with intent to sleep, 690

Page 691 view page image

THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY. Lies Love beside me on the bed, And gives me ancient words to keep; Says he: These looks, these tokens, numberMay be, they‘11ll help you to a slumber So every time when I would yield An hour to quiet, comes he still, And hunts upl) every sign concealed, And every outward sign of ill; And gives me his sad face’s pleasures For merriment’s, or sleep’s, or leisure’s. T1IO.MAS BURBIDGE. THE UNDISCOVERED

COUNTRY. COULD we but know The land that ends our dark, uncertain travel, Where lie those happ)ier hills, and meadows low - Ah! if beyond the spirit’s inmost cavil Aughlt of that country could we surely know - Who would not go? Mig,ht we but hear The hovering angels’ high1 imagined chorus, Or cateh betimes, with wakeful eyes and clear, One radiant vista of the realm before us, With one rapt moment given to see and hear All!

who would fear? 61.94

Page 692 view page image

NEARIER TO TItEE. Were we quite sture To find the peerless friend wlo(
left us lonelv; Or there, by some celestial stream as pure, To gaze in eyes that here were lovelit only This weary mortal coil, were we quite sure, Whoi) would endure? EDMUND CLAIIENCE STEDMAN. NEARER TO THEE.

NEARER, my God, to Thlee! Nearer to Thee! E’en though it be a cross That raisethi me; Still all my sonig shall be, Nearer, my God, to Thee! Nearer to Thee! !llough, like a wanderer, The sun gone down, Darkness be over me, My rest a stone, Yet ill my dreams I’d be Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee! There let the way appear Steps unto heav’eii; 692

Page 693 view page image

THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRM 693 All that Thou sendest me In mercy given. Angels to beckon me Nearer, my God, to Tlee, Nearer to Thee!

Then, with my waking thoughts Bright with Thy praise, Out of my stony griefs Bethel I‘11 raise: So by my woes to be Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee! Or if, on joyful wing Cleaving the sky, Sun, moon, and stars forgot, Upward I flyStill all my song shall be, Nearer, my God, to Thee! Nearer to Thee! SARAH F?LOWER ADAMS THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF

LINCOLNSHIRE. THE old mayor climbed the belfry tower, The ringers ran by two, by three: “Pull! if ye never pulled before; Good ringers. p)all your best!” quoth hee.

Page 694 view page image

694’IlE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIR. ” Play uppe, play uppe, 0

Boston bells! Ply all your changes, all your swells! Play uppe’ The Brides of Enderby!’ ” Men say it was a stolen’tyde The Lord that sent it, He knows all But in mvne ears doth still abide The mnessage that the bells let fall And there was nought of strange, beside Tile flights of mews and peewits pied, By millions crouched on the old sea-wall. I sat and span within the’doore; My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes: The level sun, like ruddy ore, L:ty sinking in the barren skies And, dark against day’s golden death, She mnoved where Lindis wanderethlMy sonne’s faire wife, Elizabeth. Cusha! Cuslia! Cushla! ” calling, Ere the early dews were falling, Farre away I heard her son,g. “Cusha! Cusha!” all along; Where the reedy Lindis floweth, Floweth, flowetli, From the meads where roelick groweth, Faintly came her milking song. “Cushla! Cusha! Cusha! ” calling, “For the dews will soone be falling:

Page 695 view page image

THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRFR 695 Leave your meadow grasses mellow, Mellow, mellow! Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow! Come uppe, Wlhitefoot! come uppe, Lig(lltfoot! Quit the stalks of parsley hollow, Hollow, hollow! Come uppe, Jetty! rise and follow From the clovers lift your head! Come utppe, Whitefoot! come uppe, Liglhtf(,ot Come uppe, Jetty!

rise and follow, Jetty, to the milking shed!” If it be long-ay, long ago WVlien I beginne to think howe long Againe I hear the Lindis flow, Swift as an arrowe, shaipe and strong; And all the aire, it seemnethl mee, Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee), That ring the tune of Enderby. Alle fresh the level pasture lay, And not a shadowe mote be scene, Save where, full fyve good miles away, The steeple towered from out the greene, And lo! the great bell farre and wide Was heard in all the country side, That Saturday at eventide. The swanher(-ds, where their sedges are, Moved on in sunset’s golden breath; The shepherde-lads I heard afarre,

Page 696 view page image

696 THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE. And my sonne’s wife, Elizabeth; Till, floating o’er the grassy sea, Came downe that kyndly message free, “Thle Brides of Mavis Enderby.” Then somie looked uppe into the sky, And all along where Lindis flows To where the goodly vessels lie, And where the lordly steeple shows: They sayde, ” And wlhy should this thing be? What danger lowers by land or sea, They ring the tune of Enderby? “For evil news from Mablethorpe, Of pyrate galleys warping down -

For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, They lhave not spared to wvake the towie; But while the west bin red to see, And storms be none, and pyrates flee, Why ring’ The Brides of Enderby?’” I looked without, and lo! my sonne Camne riding downe with might and main; He raised a shout as he drew on, Till all the welkin rang again: “Elizabeth! Elizabeth! ” (A sweeter woman ne’er drew breath Than my sonne’s wife, Elizabeth.) “The olde sea-wall (he cryed) is downe!

Page 697 view page image

THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE. 697 The rising tide comes on apace; And boats, adrift in yonder towne, Go sailing uppe the market-place! ” He shook as one that looks on death: “God save you, mother! ” straight he sayth; ” Where is my wife, Elizabeth?” “Good sonne, where Lindis winds away, With her two bairns I marked her long; And ere yon bells beganne to play, Afar I heard her milking song.” He looked across the grassy sea, To right, to left:” Ho, Enderby!” They rang “The Brides of Enderby!” With that hlie cried and beat his breast; For lo!

along the river’s bed A mighty eygre reared his crest, And uppe the Lindis raging sped. It swept with thunderous noises loudShaped like a curling snow-white cloud, Or like a demon in a shroud. And rearing Lindis, backward pressed, Shook all her trembling bankes amaine; Then madly at the eygre’s breast Flung uppe her weltering walls again. Then bankes camne downe with ruin and routThen beaten foam flew round aboutThen all the mighty floods were out.

Page 698 view page image

698 THF, HIGH TIDE ON THE CCAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE. So farre, so fast, the eygre drave, The heart had hardly time to beat Before a shallow seething wave Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet: The feet had hardly time to flee Before it brake against the kneeAnd all the world was in the sea! Upon the roofe we sate that night; The noise of bells, went sweeping I-)y I marked the lofty beacon-light Stream fiom the church tower, red and high A lurid mark, and dread to see; And awsome bells they were to mee, That in the dark rang ” Enderby.” They rlng the sailor-lads to guide, From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed, And I - my sonne was at my side, And yet the ruddy beacon glowed And yet he moaned beneath his breath, ” o come in life, or come in death 0 lost! my love, Elizabeth.” And didst thou visit him no mnore? Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare! The waters laid thee at his doore Ere yet the early dawn was clear: Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, The lifted sun shone on thy face, Downe-drifted to thy dwelling-place!

Page 699 view page image

THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE. 63 That flow strewed wrecks about the grass, That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea  A fatal ebbe and flow, alas:.: To manye more’ than myne, and mee; But each willi mourn his own (she’saythl), And sweeter woman neer drew breatlih’ Than my sonne’s wife, Elizabeth. I shall never hear her more By the reedy Lind(lis shore, “Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!” calling, Ere the early dews be falling; ‘I shall Lnever hlear her song, Cuslia’ Cuslha!” all alola, Where thie sunny’Lindis floweth, ~~~~~~. Goetlh, flowethl, From the meads where mrelick growetil, When the water, winding down, Onward’ floweth to the town’i. I shall never’ see her more, i Where the reeds and rushes quiver, Shiver, quiver, Stand beside the; sobbing river - Sobbing, throbbing; -in its falling, To the sandy lonesome shore; I shall never hear her calling, “Leave your meadow grasses mellow Mellow, mellow! Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow!

Come uppe, Whitefoot! come uppe, Lightfoot! I ..1

Page 700 view page image

7COME SI,LEEP, O SLEEP! Quit your pipes of parsley hollow, Hollow, hollow!

Come uppe, Lightfoot! rise and follow, Lightfoot, Whlitefoot: Flom your clovers lift the lhead! Come uppe, Jetty! follow, follow, Jetty, to the milking shed!” JEAN INGFIoOW. COME, SLEEP, O SLEEP! COME, Sleep, 0 Sleep!

thle certain knot of peace, Tile baiting-lplace of wit, the balm of woe; Tile poolr in man’s wealtll, the pI)risoner’s release; The indifferent judge between the high an(l low! WVitli shield of proof, shield me fi’om out the prease Of those fierce darts despair dotli at me throw. O! make in me those civil wars to cease: I will good tribute pay if thou do so. Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A clhamber deaf to noise and blind to light, A rosy garland and a weary head; And if these things, as being thine by right, Move not thy heavy grace, thou slhalt in me, Livelier than elsewhere, Stella’s image see. SIR PHIL,lI SIDNEY. 700

Page 701 view page image

7, IiTF -i,_ ___ TIIE JOLLY 01,1) PEDAGOGUE. ‘T wAs a jolly old pe(ldaotgue, long ago, Tall and slender, and( sallow and dry; 701 - — I -I-I l I i - I , I j i II !I/ r I -_II i’i 9==, Ij I !r-‘ I. It I\ I .. -

- - .5rj I- -

Page 702 view page image

TIlE JOLLY OLD P’EDAGOGUE. His form was bent, and his gait was slow, His long, thin hair was as white as snow, But a wonderful twinkle shone in his eye; And he sang every night as he went to bed, “Let us be happy down here below; Tile living should live, though the dead be dead,” Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. lie taught his scholars the rule of three, Writing, and reading, and history, too; He took the little ones up on his knee, For a kind old heart in his breast had hle, And the wants of the littlest child hlie knew: “Learn while you’re young,” le often said, “There is much to enjoy, down here below; Life for the living, and rest for the dead!” Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. With the stupidest boys he was kind and cool, Speaking only in gentlest tones; The rod was hardly known in his school… Whipping, to him, was a barbarous rule, And too hard work for his p)oor old bones; Beside, it was painful, he sometimes said: We should make life pleasant, down here below, The living need charity more than the dead,” Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

He lived in the house by the hawthorn lane, With roses and woodbine over the door; 702

Page 703 view page image

THE JOLLY OLD PEDAGOGUE. His rooms were quiet, and neat, and plain, But a spirit of comfort there held reign, And made him forget he was old and poor; “I need so little,” he often said; “And my friends and relatives here below Won’t litigate over me when I am dead,” Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. But the pleasantest times that he had, of all, Were the sociable hours hle used to pass, With his chair tipped back to a neighbor’s wall, Making an unceremonious call, Over a pipe and a friendly glass: This was the finest pleasure, lie said, Of the many he tasted, here below; Who has no cronies, had better be dead!” Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. Then the jolly old pedagogue’s wrinkled face Melted all over in sunshiny smiles He stirred his glass with an old-school grace, Chuckled, and sipped, anu prattled apace, Till the house grew merry, from cellar to tiles: “I’in a pretty old man,” he gently said, I have lingered a long while, here below But my heart is firesh, if my youth is fled! “

Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. He smoked his pipe in the balmy air, Every night when the sun went down, 702

Page 704 view page image

TIlE JOLLY OLD PEDAGOGUE. While the soft wind played in his silvery hair, Leaving his tenderest kisses there, Oni the jolly old pedagogue’s jolly old crown: And, feeling the kisses, he smiled, and said, ‘T was a glorious world, down here below; ” Why wait for happiness till we are dead? ” Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. He sat at his door, one midsummer night, After the sun had sunk in the west, And the lingering beams of golden light Made his kindly old face look warm and bright, While the odorous night-wind whispered, “Rest!” Gently, gently, he bowed his head…

There were angels waiting for him, I know He was sure of happiness, living or’ dead, This jolly old pedagogue, long ago! GEORGE ARNOLD. 704

Page 705 view page image

-7 ~~~~or - j, vf-y .1;r

Page 706 view page image

CAUGHTI BIR])s are singing round my window, Tunes the sweetest ever heard, And I hang my cage there daily, But I never catch a bird. So with thoughts my brain is peopled, And they sing there all day long; But they will not fold their pinions In the little cage of song! RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. A DEDICATION. TitE sea gives her shells to the shingle, The earth gives her streams to the sea; They are many, but my gift is single My verses, the first-fruits of me. Let the wind take the green and the gray leaf, Cast forth without fruit upon airTake rose-leaf and vine-leaf and bay-leaf, Blown loose fromn the hlair. The night shakes themn round me in legions, Dawn drives them before her like dreams, Time sheds them like snows on strange regions, Swept slhoreward on infinite streams: 706 .0

Page 707 view page image

A DEDICATION. - Leaves pallid and sombre and ruddy, Dead fruits of the fugitive yearsSome stained as with wine and made bloody, And some as with tears; Some scattered in seven years’ traces, As they fell from the boy that was thenLong left among idle green places, Or gathered but now among men: On seas full of wonder and peril, Blown white round the capes of the north; Or in islands where myrtles are sterile, And loves bring not forth.

O daughters of dreams, and of stories That life is not wearied of yet, Faustine, Fragoletta, Dolores, Fglise and Yolande and Juliette! Shall I find you not still, shall I miss you, When sleep, that is true or that seems, Comes back to me, hopeless to kiss you, O daughters of dreams? They are past as a slumber that passes, As the dew of a dawn of old timeMore frail than the shadows on glasses, More fleet than a wave or a rhyme. As the waves after ebb drawing seaward, When their hollows are full of the night, So the’ birds that flew singing to me-lard Recede out of sight: 707

Page 708 view page image

A DEDICATION. The songs of dead seasons, that wander On wings of articulate words Lost leaves, that the shore-wind may squander Light flocks of untamable birds; Some sang to me-dreaming in class-timne, And truant in hand as in tongue; For the youngest were born of boy’s pastime, The eldest are young. Is there shelter while life in them lingers, Is there hearing for songs that recede? - Tunes touched from a harp with man’s fingers, Or blown with boy’s mouth in a reed? Is there place in the land of your labor? Is there room in your world of delight, Where change has not sorrow for neighbor, And day has not night? In their wings though the sea-wind yet quivers, Will you spare not a space for them there, Made green with the running of rivers And gracious with temperate air? In the fields and the turreted cities, That cover from sunshine and rain Fair passions and bountiful pities And loves without stain? In a land of clear colors and stories, In a region of shadowless hours, Wherehearth has a garment of glories And a murmur of musical flowers 708

Page 709 view page image

A DEDICATION. In woods where the spriing half uncovers The flush of her amorous face, By the waters that listen for lovers For these is there place? For the song-birds of sorrow, that muffle Their music as clouds do their fire? For the storm-birds of p)assion, that ruffle Wild wings in a wind of desire? In the stream of the storm as it settles Blown seaward, borne far from the sunShaken loose on the darkness, like petals Dropt one after one? Though the world of your hand(Is be more gracious And lovelier, in lordship of tlhings Clothed round by sweet Art with the spacious Warm heaven of her imminent wings, Let them enter, unfledged and nigh fainting, For the love of old loves and lost times And receive in your palace of painting This revel of rhymes. Though the seasons of man, full of losses, 1ake empty the years full of youth, If but one thing be constant in crosses, Change lays not her hand upon truth; Hopes die, and their tombs are for token That the grief, as the joy of them, ends Ere Time, that breaks all men, has broken The faith between friends. 709

Page 710 view page image

THE LAST POET. Though the many lights dwindle to one light, There is help if the heaven has one; Though the skies be discrowned of the sunlight, And the earth dispossessed of the sun, They have moonlight and sleep for repayment, When, refreshed as a bride and set free, With stars and sea-winds in her raimenit, Night iiIaKs on the sea. ALGERNON CHARLES

SWINBURNE THE LAST POET. “WHE;N will your bards be weary Of rhyming on?

How long Ere it is sung and ended, The old, eternal song? “Is it not long since empty, The horn of full supply? And all the posies gathered, And all the fountains dry?” As long as the sun’s chariot Yet keeps its azure track, And but one human visage Gives answering glances back; 710

Page 711 view page image

THE LAST POET. As long as skies shall nourish Thie thunderbolt and gale, And, frightened at their fuiry, One throbbing heart shall quail; As long as after tempests Shlall spring one showery hw. One breast with peacefil promise And reconcilement glow; As long as night the concave Sows with its starry seed, And but one man those letters Of golden writ can read; as a moonbeam glimmers, bosom sighs a vow; as the wood-leaves rustle cool a weary brow; As long as roses bldssom, And earth is green in May As long as eyes shall sparkle And smile in pleasure’s rarv As long as cypress shadows The graves more mi.ournfill make. Or one cheek’s wet with weeping, Or one poor heart can break: 711 Long, Or Long To

Page 712 view page image

TtIE LAST POET. So long on earth shall wander The goddess Poesy; And, with her, one exulting Her votarist to be. And singing on, triumphing, The old earth-mansion through, Out marches the last minstrel! lie is the last man too. The Lord holds the creation Forth in his hand meanwhile, Like a fresth flower just opened, Ai,d views it with a smile. When once this Flower Giant Be.gins ti,show decay, And earths and suns are flying I,ikt hlossom-dust away, Then ask - if of the question Not weary yet - ” How long Ere it is sung’and ended, The old, eternal song?” ANTON ALEXANDER VON

AUERSPERG. (German.) Trandlation of NATHANIEL LANGDON FROTHINGHAM. ,12

Page 713 view page image

INDEX OF FIRST LINES. ABOU BEN ADHEM (MAY HIS TRIBE

INCREASE!)………………………..Hunt…. AE FOND KISS-AND THEN WE

SEVER!……………………………… Burns…. A FEARLESS SHAPE OF

BRAVE DEVICE………………………………..Read…. AGAIN I SIT

WITHIN THE MANSION…………………………………..Taylor…. AH, CHLORIS! TIHAT I NOW COULD

SIT……………………………..Secdley…. AH, HERE IT IS! THE

SLIDING RAIL………………………………..Holmes…. AH, MY HEART

IS WEARY WAITING………………………………McCarthy…. AH, MY

PERILLA! DOST THOU GRIEVE TO SEE……………………….Herrick..2.

ALL DAY LONG TILL THE WEST WAS RED…………………………..

McKay… I ALL’S IVESL ” -HOW THE MUSICAL

SOUND……………………….. Preston…. ALL THE EARTH IS WRAPT IN

SHADOWS……………………………Bowrin….2 ALL THOUGHTS, ALL

PASSIONS, ALL DELIGHTS…………………. S. T. Coleridge…. ALTHOUGH

I ENTER NOT……………………………………….Thackeray…. AND

ARE YE SURE THE NEWS IS

TRUE……………………………….Mickle…. AN ORPHAN BOY, WITH

WEARY FEET………………………………Rueckert…. AROUND ME

LIFE’S HELL OF FIERCE ARDORS BURNS……………………Massey…. As I LAY ASLEEP, AS I LAY ASLEEP…………………………….Buchanan…

As I LAY A-THINKING, A-THINKING,

A-THINKING……………………..Ba’han…. As I SAW FAIR CHLORIS WALK

ALONE…………………………..Anonymous…. A SOLDIER OF TIlE

LEGION LAY DYING IN ALGIERS……………………Norton… ASIK MIE NO

MORE: THE MOON MAY DRAW THE SEA………………….Tennyson… AS SHIPS

BECALMED AT EVE, THAT LAY……………………………..Clough 7….

As SOME POOR PITEOUS LAPP, WHO UNDER FIRS……………………….H.

H…..H As THROUGH THE LAND AT EVE WE

WENT…………………………Tennyson…. A TRAVELLER THROUGH A DUSTY

ROAD……………………………Mackay…. AT THE CORNER OF WOOD

STREET WHEN DAYLIGHT APPEARS…….Wordsworth…. AWAKIE THEE, IMY

LADY-LOVE……………………………………..Darley…. AWAY! LET

NAUGHT TO LOVE DISPLEASING……………………………Anon…. A WEARY WEED TOSSED TO AND

FRO……………………………….Fenner…. A YOUTH, LIGHT-HEARTED

AND CONTENT………………………. PJizer…. B. BALOW, M,iY BABE, LY

STIL AND SLEIPE………………………….Anonymous….24 BARK, THAT

BEARS ME THROUGH FOAM AND SQUALT……………….Anonymous…. BEAUTS

STILL WVALKETH ON THE EARTH AND AIR…………….Alexander Smith….

BEYOND THE SMIILING AND THE WEEPING……………………….Bonar….

A. PAGE 317 234 475 42 355 613 433 342 218 282 682 239 270 649 441 198 192

472 237 187 63 470 322 113 594 519 460 530 603 38 243 490 167 227

Page 714 view page image

INDEX. PAGE 687 706 511 450 358 425 419 14( BEFORE THE BEGINNING OF

YEARS………………………………. Swinburne… BIRDS ARE SINGING

ROUND MY WINDOW…………………………..Stoddard….0 BLESSINGS ON

THEE, LITTLE MAN…………………………………Whittier…. BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND!……………………..:…….Shakespeare….

BREAK, BREAK,

BREAK…………………………………………..Tennyson…. BURLY, DOZING, HUMBLEBEE!…………………………………….Emerson….

BY SCATTERED ROCKS AND TURBID WATERS SHIFTING………………………

Harte… BY THE WAYSIDE, ON A MOSSY

STONE……………………………….. Hoyt…. C. CALL FOR THE

ROBIN-REDBREAST AND THE WREN……………………Webster…. CALM IS

THE NIGHT AND THE CITY IS SLEEPING………………………Leland….

CHEEKS AS SOFT AS JULY

PEACHES…………………………………Bennett…. COME, BEAUTEOUS

DAY!…………………………………………Hurlbut… COME FROM

YOUR LONG, LONG ROVING…………………………..Anonymoi…. COME

ALL YE JOLLY SHEPHERDS……………………………………..

toqg….7 COME IN THE EVENING, OR COME IN THE

MORNING…………………….Davis…. COME LIVE WITH ME, AND BE MY

LOVE……………………………Marlowe…. COME, SLEEP, 0 SLEEP! THE

CERTAIN KNOT OF PEACE…………………. Sidney…. COME SEE THE

DOLPHIN’S ANCHOR FORGED………………………..Ferguson…. COME WITH

THE BIRDS IN THE SPRING……………………………..Kimball….

COULD WVE BUT KNOW THE LAND THAT ENDS OUR DARK……………..Stedman….

COULD YE COME BACK TO ME, DOUGLAS,

DOUGLAS……………………Muloch…. COLD CHRISTMAS EVE! THE MUFFLED

WAITS……………………. Macfarlane…. D. DAY, IN MELTING PURPLE

DYING!…………………………………..Brooks…. DAY-STAIRS! THAT

OPE YOUR EYES WITH MORN TO TWINKLE……..H…ac e Smith…. DEEPER THAN

THE IIAIL CAN SMITE…………………………..C. G. Rossetti…. DOES

THE ROAD WIND UP-HILL ALL THE WAY?…………………C. G. Rossetti…

DRINK TO ME ONLY WITH THINE EYES…………………………..Ben Jonson…. DRINK YE TO HER THAT EACH

LOVES.BEST…………………………Campbell…. E. EVERY SAIL IS FULL

SET, AND THE SKY……………………………….f. H…. 133 F. FAIR

DAFFODILS, WE WEEP TO SEE………………………………..Herrick….

FAIR PLEDGES OF A FRUITFUL TREE………………………………..

Herrick…. FAREWELL! BUT WHENEVER YOU WELCOME THE

HOUR…………………Moore…. FEAR NO MORE THE HEAT O’ THE

SUN…………………………..Shakespeare…. FRESH GLIDES THE BROOK

AND BLOWS THE GALE………………Bulwer Lytton…. FROM MY LIPS IN

THEIR DEFILEMENT…………………………….Browning…. FULL FATHOM

FIVE THY FATHER LIES…………………………… Shakespeare…. G.

GENTEEL IN

PERSONAGE………………………………………….Fielding…

“GIVE US A SONG!” THE SOLDIERS

CRIED…………………………..Taylr…. GOD DOES NOT SEND US

STRANGE FLOWERS EVER& YEAR…………….Whitney… GOD SENT HIS SINGERS

UPON EARTH…………………………….Longfello… 714 439 689 114

391 179 175 277 163 700 580 510 691 254 104 318 397 118 492 273 296 423

422 252 268 684 640 660 304 165 506 346

Page 715 view page image

INDEX. 715 PAGY 663 451 248 343 475 Go FORTH AT

EVENTIDE…………………………………………..Ebury…., Go, LOVELY ROSE!………………………………………………..e….

Go WHERE THE WATER GLIDETH GENTLY

EVER…………………….Reynolds…. GREEN BE THE TURF ABOVE

THEE…………………………………Halleck…. GREEN LITTLE

VAULTER IN THE SUNNY GRASS…………………………Hunt…. H. HALF A LEAGUE, HALF A LEAGUE………………………………..Tennyson…

HARK! AlH, THE

NIGHTINGALE…………………………………..Arnold…. HER EYES

THE GLOW-WORME LEND THEE……………………….Herr ick…. HER

SUFFERI.NG ENDED WITH THE DAY……………………………..Aldrich…

HERE A SHEER-HULIK LIES POOR TOM BOWLING……………………….

Dibdin… HE STOOD BESIDE A COTTAGE

LONE…………………………..Hervey…. HIE UPON

HIELANDS…………………………………………..Anonymous….

HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD………………….. Tennyson…. Ho, SAILOR OF THE

SEA!…………………………………………..Dobell…. HOW DEAR

TO THIS HEART ARE THE SCENES OF MY CHILDHOOD…….Woodworth…. HOw SELDOM, FRIEND, A GOOD GREAT MAN INHERITS……………….Coleridge….

HoWv SLEEP THE BRAVE, WHO SINK TO

REST………………………….Collins… How STRANGEF IT SEEMS WITH

SO MUCH GONE………………………Whittier…. How SWEET IT WERE, IF

WITHOUT FEEBLE FRIGHT……………………Hunt…. HOW THICK THE WILD

FLOWERS BLOW ABOUT OUR FEET………………Trench… How WISE HE IS! HE

CAN TALK IN GREEK!……………………]. E. Dodge… I. I AMI THIS

FOUNTAIN’S GOD. BELOW……………………………….Fletcher….. I ARISE FROM DREAMS OF

THEE…………………………………….Shelley… I CANNOT MAKE

HIM DEAD!………………………………………Pierpont… I CANNOT

OPE MINE EYE S……………………………………….. Herbert….

I CANNOT TAKE MY EYES AWAY…………………………….. Brooks…. I COIE FROM HAUNTS OF COOT AND HE

R…………………………Tennyson…. I DREAMED A DREAM-WHAT CAN IT

MEAN?…………………………Blake…. IF ALL WERE RAIN AND NEVER S

UN…………………………..C. G. Rossetti…. IF I AM GONE ON, YOU

WILL FIND A SMALL STRING…………………..Barnes…. IF I DESIRE WITH

PLEASANT SONGS………………………………. Burbidge. IF I HAD

THOUGHT THOU COULDST HAVE DIED………………………..o…. IF I SHALL EVER WIN THE HOME IN HEAVEN………………………..Holland… I FILL THIS CUP TO ONE MADE

UP…………………………………Pinkney…. IF THAT THE WORLD AND

LOVE WERE YOUNG……………………….Raleigh…. IF THIS FAIR ROSE

OFFEND THY SIGHT…………………………. Anonymous…. IF THOU WILT

EASE THINE H E ART………………………………….Beddoes… I GIVE MY SOLDIER BOY A

BLADE…………………………………..Maginn…. I HAVE A SON, A LITTLE SON, A BOY JUST FIVE YEARS OLD…………. Moultrie…. I HAVE HAD

PLAYMATES, I HAVE HAD COMPANIONS…………………….Lamb… I HAVE NO

NAME………………………………………………….Blake…. I HAVE SEEN A NIGHTINGALE…………………………………..De Villegas…. I IN THESE FLOWERY HIEADS WOULD

BE…………………………….Walton…. I KNOW A MAIDEN FAIR TO

SEE…………………………………. Longfellow…. X KNOW HER, THE

THING OF LACES AND SILKS…………………… Story…. 567 372 393 251

535 221 57 305 346 ‘32 606. 681 182 559 436 324 431 435 245 134 672 45
i656 493 538 690 172 328 257 164 269 463 632 136 154 254 424 479 288 302

Page 716 view page image

INDEX. PAGE 551 577 215 100 135 356 683 675 402 406 602 573 515 570 357

368 94 544 47 585 671 341 330 635 87 210 290 102 496 68 412 I KNOW NOT

WVHAT IT PRESAGES……………………………………Cranch…. [

LOVE CONTE.IPLATING

APART……………………………………Campbell…. I LOVED THEE

LONG AND DEARLY…………………………………. Cooke… I’.M

SITTING ON TIlE STIL,E,

MARY……………………………….Blackwood…. I’lM WEARIN’ AWA’, JEAN………………………………………….. Nairn… IN

CLEM,IENTINA’S ARTLESS

MIEN……………………………………Lando)…. IN EDDYING COURSE

WHEN LEAVES BEGAN TO FLY…………………..Brydges…. IN IiS LAST BIN

SIR PETER LIES………………………………….Peacock…. IN MIAY, WVIEN SEA-WIINDS PIERCED OUR SOLITUDES………………….Emerso…. IN

SUMIIERI, WHIEN TIHE DAYS WERE

LONG………………………..Anonymous…. IN THE SILENT MIDNIGHT

WATCHES………………………………….. Coxe…. IN THEIR RAGGED

REGIMIENTALS…………………………………. cMaster…. IN TIIEIR

YACHTS ON OCEAN GLIDING………………………………English….

INTO TIHE SILI,ENT LAND…………………………………

Longfellow…. IN VAIN YOU TELL YOUR PARTING

LOTVER……………………………. Pror…. I PASSED BEFORE HER

GARDEN GATE……………………………. Bradley…. I REME.IBEFR, I REIMEMIBERt…………………………………………. ood… I SAW

HI.M ONCE BEFORE………………………………………….

Holmes…. I SAW TWO CLOUDS AT MORNING…………………………..

B……..Bainard…. I SPRANG TO THE STIRRUP AND JORIS AND

HE……………………. Browning…. Is TIIIS A FAST: TO KEEP THE

LARDER LEAN………………………..Herick…. 7 Is THY NAMIE MARY, MAIDEN FAIR………………………………….Holmes…. IT IS MAY, AND THE MOON LEANS DOWN ALL NIGHT…………………. MacDonald…. IT

IS NOT BEAUTY I

DEMAND……………………………………….Carew…. IT IS THE

MIILLER’S DAUGHTER…………………………………..Tennyson…. IT

WAS MANtY AND MANY A YEAR AGO………………………………. P0….[

IT WAS TIlE AUTUMN OF THE YEAR…………………………..Florence Percy…. IT WAS THE CALMI AND SILENT

NIGHT……………………………..Dommnett…. IT WAS THE SCHOONER

HE:SPERUS……………………………….Longfellow…. I’VE WANDERED

EAST, I’VE WANDERED WEST…………………….. Afotherwell…. I WANDERED BY TIlE

BROOKSIDE……………………………………Milnes… J. JENNY

KISSED ME WHEN WVE MET…………………………………… unt….

253 JOHN ANDERSON, MY JOE, JOHN…………………………………….

Burns…. 34 K. KULNASATZ, MY

REINDEER……………………………………… Anonymous… L. LET

ME M-OVE SLOWLY THROUGII TIlE

STREET………………………..Bryant…. LET TI.NIE AND CHANCE

COMBINE, COMBINE…………………………..Carlyle…. LIFT UP YOUR.

IIEADS, YE GATES! SWING WIDE…………………………Coles…. LIKE A POET IN TIlE SPLENDOR……………………………………. ary…..7

LONE UPON A MOUNTAIN, TIHE PINE-TREES WAILING ROUND

HIM………..Landon…. 5 LOOK AT MIE WITH THY LARGF, BROWN

EYES…………………………uloch…. 8 Looi NOT THOU ON BEAUTY’S

CHARMING………………………..Scott…. 3 LORD, FORP THE ERRING

TIlOUGHT…………………………………. Iowells…. LOVE IN MY

BOSOMI, LIKE A BEE……………………………………Lodge….9

LOVE NOT ME FOR COMIELY GRACE……………………….Aonymous……..

716 485 618 263 226 274 526 180 373 642 409 323

Page 717 view page image

INDEX. MANY A YEAR IS IN ITS

GRAVE……………………………………Uhlanld…. MATRON, THE

CHILDREN OF WHOSE LOVE…………………………… Bryarnt…. IMAUD

MIULLER ON A SUMMER’S DAY……………………………….IVittie…..

MAY! QUEEN OF BLOSSOMS……………………………………….

Tu-low…. MELLOW THE MOONLIGHT TO SHINE IS BEGINNING……………….J.

F. WValler…. ‘MNID PLEASURES AND PALACES THOUGH WE MAY

ROAM…………………Payne… MIINE BE A COT’ BESIDE THE

HILL!…………………………………. Roge…. ls 1 MINE EYES IAKE

PICTURES WHEN THEY’RE SHUT…………………..Coleridge…. MUCH HAVE I TRAVELLED IN THE IIEALMS OF GOLD………………….. Keats…. MY

COACHMAN IN THE MOONLIGHT THERE……………………………Lowell….

MY DAYS PASS PLEASANTLY AWAY……………………………………

Saxe…. MY DEAlt AND ONLY LOVE, I

PRAY………………………………..Grahame…. MY FAINT SPIRIT WAS

SITTING IN THE LIGHT………………………..Shelley…. MY HEART, MY

HEART IS WEARY………………………………….L.. elancl…. MY

HEID IS LIKE TO REND,

WILLIE………………………………fothewell…. 0 MY LIFE IS LIKE

THE SUIMNIER ROSE…………………………………W ilde…. MY

LITTILE LOVE, DO YOU REIEMIBER…………………..Robert Bulwer Lytton…. MY LITTLE MAIDEN OF FOUR YEARS

OLD…………………………..Whitney…. MY LOVE HE BUILT MIE A BONNY BOWVER………………………….Anonymotus…. MY LOVED, MY

HONOIIED, MUCH RESPECTED FRIEND………………. Burns….. MY SOUL

TO-DAY……………………………………………….. Read…. N.

NEARER, MY GOD, TO THEE………………………………………..

Adams…. NO MORE! A HARP-STRING’S DEEP AND BREAKING

TONE………………… Hemans…. NOT AS ALL OTHER WOMIEN

ARE………………………………. J. R. Lowell…. NOT ON A PRAYERLESS BED……………………………………….Meicer…. O.

0! A WEDDING RING’S PRETTY TO

WEAR……………………………Douglas….. 260 0! A WONDERFUL

STREAM IS THE RIVER TINIE……………………….Taylor-… 597 0!

GALLANT SANS-PEUR…………………………………….. Dobell….

560 0! DIG A GRAVE, AND DIG IT

DEEP…………………………………Roscoe.. 320 0! DINNA ASK ME

GIN I LO’P YE…………………………………..Dunlop…. 335 O’ER

THE GRAY OLD GER.IAN CITY…………………………….. Gleenough….

381 OF A’ TIlE AIRTS TIlE WVIND QAN

BLAWV………………………………Burns.. 429 O FAINT, DELICIOUS

SPRING-TIME VIOLET………………………………Stor…. 408 OH, Ni),‘TWAS LIFELESS HERE, lIE SAID…………………………n…

Banes… 534 0, IT WAS HEIRE THAT LOVE, 111s GIFTS

BESTOWED………………… Bianger…. 121 OLD TIMES, OLD TIMES, THE

GAY OLD TIMES…………………………….Gliin…. 143 OLD WINE TO

DRINK…………………………………………….21essinger. 598 O

MARY, GO AND CALL THE CATTLE

HOME………………………….Kingsley…. 111 O0, IY LOVE’S LIKE THE

STEADFAST SUN………………………..Cunningham…. 232 ON A BLEAK

RIDGE, FIROM WHOSE GRANITE EDGES…………………..Bulleigh…. 622

ONCE, UPON A IIDNIGHT DREARY…………………………………P
e…..Poe…. 661 ONE MIORE

UNFORTUNATE……………………………………………ood…. 539

ONE TIMIE MIY SOUL WAS PIERCED AS WITH A SWORD………………

JAfenteath…. 350 O NIGHTINGALE, THAT ON YON BLOOMY

SPRAY………………………… Milton…. 480 717 M. PAGE 359 91 123

401 336 83 170 171 684 552 202 230 345 677 160 440 280 183 314 21 464 692

588 338 604

Page 718 view page image

INDEX. PAGE 377 420 385 524 452 468 223 503 333 178 34 607 652 56 634 185

326 224 131 536 ON THE CROSSBEAM UNDER THE OLD SOUTH

BELL…………………….Wills…. W O PATIENT SHORE, THAT CANST NOT

GO TO MEET…………………..if. H…. Z O READER! HAST THOU EVER

STOOD TO SEE………………………… Southey…. O ROSES FOR THE

FLUSH OF YOUTH………………………………..Rossetti…. O ROSE!

WHO DARES TO NAME THEE…………………………Mrs. Browning… 0, SING UNTO MY

ROUNDELAY…………………………………..Chatterton…. O!

SNATCIIED AWAY IN BEAUTY’S BLOOM…………………………….Byron…

O THE WEE GREEN NEUK, THE SLY GREEN NEUK……………….. Bailey…. 0, THE YEARS I LOST BEFORE I KNEW YOU……………………………H.

H…. 0! THERE BE ANGELS EVERMIORE…………………………

Barnes…. O THOSE LITTLE, THOSE LITTLE BLUE

SHOES…………………………Bennett…. 0, THOU, THE WONDER OF ALL

DAYES………………………………Herrick…. 0, TIBBIE, I HAVE

SEEN THE DAY…………………………Burns…. 0!‘TWVAS THE WORLD TO

ME……………………………………… Swain…. OUR BUGLES SANG

TRUCE; FOR THE NIGHT CLOUD HAD LOWERED……..Campbell… OUR WEAN’S THE

HOST WONDERFU’ WEAN E’ER I SAW…………………Miller…. OVER THE

RIVER THEY BECKON TO ME………………………………Priest…. OVER

THE RIVER, ON THE H I L L…………………………………Rose Terry…. 0, WEEL BEFA’ THE MAIDEN G

AY………………………………… Ho…. 0! WHAT CAN AIL THEE, KNIGIIT AT AR.IMS……………………………Keats….. P. PACK, CLOUDS, AWAY! AND WVELCOMIE, DAY………………………..Heywood….

PIPED THE BLACKBIRD (N THE BEECHWVOOD

SPRAY…………………….Westwood…. PIPING DOWN THE VALLEYS

WILD…………………………………. Blake…. POOR LONE

HANNAH……………………………………………..Larcom…. Q.

QUFEN AND HUNTRESS, CHASTE AND FAIR…………………………..J00…

474 QUHY DOIS ZOUR BRAND SAE DRAP WI’

BLUID………………..A…..nonymous…. 48 R. RATTLE THE WFINDOW, WINDS…………………………………….Stoddard…. 376 RIVER! MY

RIVER, IN THE YOUNG SUNSHINE[!……………………….Moeirike…. 454

S. SEEK MEI, THE CAVE OF SIL,VER……………………………….

O’Brien…. SEE, SEE! SHE WAKES-SABI.WA

WAKIES!……………………….. Congreve…. v SHALL I WASTING IN

DESPAIR………………………………….. Witler…. SHE DWVELT

AMONG -HE UNTRODDEN WAYS…………………….. Wordsworth…. SHE IS A MAID OF ARTLESS GRACE……………………………… Lonqllow…. SHE

IS NOT FAIR TO OUTWARD VIEW………………………H artl ey Coleridge…. SHE SAT AND SANG

ALWAY……………………………………….Rossetti…. SHEI SAYS,‘HE COCK CROWS - HARK!……………………………….A.. A6er SIIE SITS BESIDE THE CRADLE………………………………………

Cilton…. SHI,‘S GANE, TO DVWELL IN HEAVEN, MY

LASSIE!…………………. Cunningham…. SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF

DELIGIIT………………………. TVordsworth… 0 SHE WHOM THIS HEART

MUST EVER HOLD MOST DEAR…………………..De Trere…. SINCE THERE’S

NO HELPE-CONIE, LET US KISS AND PARTE!………….Drayto&…. 718 679 414

525 88 437 375 572 60 287 295 617 661 119 348 307 658 249

Page 719 view page image

SIR MARMADUKE WAS A HEARTY

KNIGHT……………………………Colman…. SLEEP ON, MY LOVE, IN

THY COLD BED………………………Kin….. SLEEP! THE GHOSTLY WINDS

ARE BLOWvING………………………..Procter…. SOMEBODY SENT ME A DEAR LITTLE NOTE…………………………Thliompson…. STILL-BORN

SILENCE! THOU THAT ART……………………………Flecknoe…. STILL

TO BE NEAT. STILl TO BE

DREST………………………………Jonson…. J STONY-BROWED DWINA, THY FACE IS AS FLINT!………………………..Olof… SWEET AFTER

SHOWVERS, AMBROSIAL AIR…………………………..Tennyson…. SWEET

AND LOW, SWVEET AND LOW……………………………….Tennyson….

SWEET DAY! SO COOL, SO CALM, SO BRIGHT…………………………

Herbert…. SWEET IN HER GREEN DELL TIlE FLOWER OF BEAUTY

SLUMBERS……….Da?ley… SWORID AT MY LEFT SIDE

GLEAMING……………………………….Chorley…. INDEX. 719 PAGE

93 272 285 238 615 633 481 430 200 410 276 590 T. TAKE, 0 TAKE, THOSE LIPS

AWAY……………………Shakspeare and Fletcher…. TEARS, IDILE

TEARS! I KNOW NOT WHAT THEY MEAN……………. Tennyson…. TELL ME NOT, SWEET, I AM UNEKINDE………………………………Lovelace…. THAT

WHICH HER SLENDER WAIST CONFINED………………………E. Walle….

THE CONFERENCE-MIEETING THROUGH AT LAST……………………….

Stedman…. THE DULE’S I’ THIS BONNET O’

MINE………………………………..Waugh…. THE EGG OF A LITTLE

BIRD……………………………………….Duffield…. THe GOWAN

GLIrrTERS ON TJE SWARD……………………………….Baillie…. THE

GRASS THAT IS UNDER ME NOW………………………………Stoddard….

TIlE GRAY SEA, AND THE LONG BLACK LAND…………………….R.

Browning…. THE GROVES WERE GOD’S FIRST TEMPLES. ERR, MAN

LEARNED……….. Bryant…. THE KING SITS IN DUNFERNILINE

TOWN……………………………….Anon…. A THE KING WITH ALL THE

KINGLY TRAIN……………………………Sterling…. S THE LARK NOW

LEAVES HIS WATERY NEST…………………………Davenant… THE LORDS

OF THULE IT DID NOT PLEASE………………………..Anonymous…. THE

LOVE THAT I HA’E CHOSEN………………………………….

Anonymous…. THE MERRY, MERRY LARK WAS UP AND

SINGING………………….C. Kingsley…. TElE MIGHT OF ONE FAIR FACE

SUBLIMES MY LOVE…………..Hartley Coleridge…. 3 THE MOON IS ROUND, AND BIG, AND FULL…………………………..Palmer…. THE MOUNTAIN

SHEEP ARE SWEETER……………………………….Peacock…. THE

NIGHT IS LATE, THE HOUSE IS

STILL……………………………Palmer…. THE OLD MAYOR CLIMBED THE

BELFRY TOWER……………………… Ingelow…. THE SEA GIVES HER

SHELLS TO THE SHINGLE……………………… Swizburne…. THE SHADES

OF NIGHT WERE FALLING FAST……………………..Longfellow… THE

SHADOWS LAY ALONG

BIROADWAY……………………………….Wills…… THE SNOW HAD

BEGUN IN THE GLOAMING………………………J. R. Lowell….9 THE SNOW

LIIES FRESH ON CHESTER HILL……………………… G. 11. Barnes….

THE SPLENDOR FALLS ON CASTLE

WALLS…………………………..Tennyson…. THE SUNMMEIR FLOATS ON

EVEN WING………………………………Bushnell…. THE TWENTIETH

YEAR IS WELL-NIGII PAST………………………….Coper…. THE WANTON

TROOPERS, RIDING BY………………………………Mar vel…. THE

WISEST OF THE WISE………………………………… Landor…. THE

WORLD GOES UP, AND THE WORLD GOES DOWN……………… Kingsley…. THE

WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US……………………………..

Vordsworth…. THERE ARE GAINS FOR ALL OUR

LOSSES……………………………Stoddard…. 292 36 .78 284 207 52

279 370 371 306 363 554 625 681 39 275 495 341 74 620 115 693 706 642 611

97 500 523 462 85 387 571 411 678 548

Page 720 view page image

INDEX. PAG E 529 168 196 31 281 446 616 676 139 299 3,53 58 107 213 461

453 155 267 637 250 229 51 489 701 601 THERE’S A GRIMI ONE-HORSE HEARSE IN

A JOLLY ROUND TROT………. Noel….. THERE’S A WEDDING IN THE ORCHARD, DEAR……………………. E. Do……..1 THEIRE’S NO DEW LEFT ON THE

DAISIES AND CLOVER…………………Inqelow…. 1 THEY SAY THAT LONELY

SORROWS DO NOT CHANCE……………….. Af…. Iacdonald…. THEY TELL

MIE I AM SHIREWD WITH OTHER MEN………………………Howe…. H THEY

WAALEED BESIDE THE SUNIMMER SEA……………………………Winter….

4 THIS AE NIGHTE, THIS AE NIGHTE……………………………………

Anon… THIS NIGHT IS MIY DEPARTING

NIGIT…………………………………Anon…. THOSE EVENING BELLS!

THOSE EVENING BELLS!………………………oore…. A THOU HAST SWOI:N

BY TIHY GOD, IY JEANIE…………………….Cunninghamn…. THOU

LINGERING STAR, WITH LESSENING RAY…………………………Burns….

B THOU THAT HAST A

DAUGHTER…………………………………..Allingham….. THREE

FISHERS WENT SAILING OUT INTO TIHE WEST………………….Kingsley…

THREE STUDENT-COMRADES CROSSED OVER THE RHINE………Leland and Palner…. THROUGH THE NIGHT, THROUGH THE

NIGHT………………………..Stoddard…. TIGER, TIGER, BURNING

BRIGHT…………………………………….Blake…. ‘TIs A FEARFUL

NIGHT IN THE WVINTER TIME………………………….Eastman…., To FAIR FIDELE’S GRASSY TOMIB……………………………………

Collins…. To HEAVEN APPROACHED A SUFI

SAINT……………………………… Alger…. To MAKE IY LADY’S

OBSEQUIES………………………………..H. F. Cary…. TOO LATE I STAYED-FORGIVE THE CRIMIE………………………….S. pencer….

TOUCH US GENTLY, TIME!……………………………………..

Procter…. TRICKLES FAST THE APRIL SHOWER……………….Author of”

The Afterglow…. ITWAS A JOLLY OLD PEDAGOGUE LONG

AGO…………………………. Arnold…. Two HANDS UPON THE

BIREAST……………………………………. Muloch…. U. UP! QUIT

THY BOWVER! LATE WEARS THE HOUR………………………. Baillie….

494 UP THE AIRY

MOUNTAIN………………………………..Al……Alingham…. 403 V.

VERSE, A BREEZE’M.NIID BLOSSOMIS

STRAYING………………………..Coleridge… 549 W. WAKING IN MIAY, THE PEACH-TREE THOUIGHT…………………..A. E.. Dodge…. WE COUNT

THE BROKEN LYRES THAT REST…………………………..Iolmes…. WEE

WILLIE WINKIE RINS THROUGH THE TOWN………………………Miller….

WVE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER…………………………………..

Vorton…. WE PARTED IN SIILENCE, WE PARTED BY

NIGHT…………………….Crawfrd…. 1 WE SAT BY THE FISHER’S

COTTAGE…………………………………. Heine…. WE SAT WITHIN

THE FARMI-HOUSE OLD…………………………..Loqllow…. WE THE

FAIRIES BLITIIE AND ANTIC………………………………. Ra ndolph…. WE WATCHED HER BREATHING THROUGH THE

NIGIIT…………………… lfood.. WE WREATHED ABOUT OUR DARLING’S

HEAD………………Jaria TWhlite Lowell…. WHAT IS THE LITTLE ONE

THINKING ABOUT………………………… Ilolland…. WHAT SHALL I DO

WITH ALL THE DAYS AND HOUIRS…………………..Butler…. WHAT THOUGHT

IS FOLDED IN THY LEAVES!……………………….. Aldrich…. WHAT

WOULD YOU SEE, IF I TOOK YOU UP……………………….. facdonald….

720 449 53 191 309 109 145 61 675 140 44 65 258 417 396

Page 721 view page image

INDEX. 721 PAGE 374 639 670 211 546 72 486 235 447 332 83 627 141 654 658

710 264 484 300 644 255 40 421 293 289 265 395 79 563 506 669 629 174

WHIE.N DAISIES PIED, AND VIOILETS

BLUE………………………..Shakspeare… WHEN GOD AT FII ST MADE

MIAN…………………………… Herbert…. WIHEN I CONSIDER HOW V

IY LIGHT IS SPIENT………………………….ilton…. WHIIEN LIATE O’

NIGHTS, ABOVE THE GREEN……………………….Barnes…. WHIIEN LOVE, WITH UNCONFINED WINGS……………………………Lovelace…. WHEN

MIAIDENS SUCH AS HESTER DIE…………………………….Lanmb….

WHEN NATURE TR’IES HER FINEST TOUCH……………………………..

Keble… WHEN SPRING TO WVOODS AND WVASTES

AROUND……………………… Bryant…. WHEN SPARROWS BUILD, AND THE

LEAVES BREAK FORTH……………Ingelow….. WHEN STARS ARE IN THE QUIET

SKIES………………… E~dwad BUlver Lytton…. WIIEN TIlE BABY DIED, VWE SAID…………………………………..Per7ry…. WHEN TIlE

BREACH WAS OPEN LAID………………………… Mayinn…. 2 WHEN TIlE

SHEEP ARE IN THE FAULD) AND THE KYE AT HAME………..Lindsay…. L WHEN

THE SULTAN SHAI-ZAMAN………………………………….. A ldrich…. WHIIEN VICT(‘R E11.IMANUEL. THE

KING…………………………….Brownin…. B WIIEN W-ILL YOUR BARDS

BE WEARY…………………………..Frothinghan….. WHEN YOUR BEAUTY

APPEARS…………………………………….. Pa-nell… WHERIE IS

THIE GRAVE OF SIR ARTHUR O’KELLYN?…………………..Cole,idye….. 4

WHIERE SHALIL THE LOVER REST……………………………………..

Scott…. WIIERE THE RE.IOTE BER.MIUDAS

RIDE…………………………….. 6larvell…. WHOM-FIRST WVE LOVE, YOU KNOWV, WE SELDOMI, WED…….Robert Bulwer Lytton…. WHO RIDES SO

LATE THROUGH THE GRISLY NIGHT?……………………Goethe…. WHY DO YE

WEEP, SWE:ET BABES? CAN TEARS……………………..Herick…. WHY SITS

SIIE THIUS IN SOLITUDE? HER HEART……………………..Welby…. WHY

SO PALE AND WAN, FOND LOVER?…………………………… Suckling….

WHY THlUS LONGING, THIUS FOREVER

SIGHING……………………….Winslow…. WIXJTER”S WILD BIRTHNIGHIT!

IN THE FIRETFUL EAST………………..Holl(tnd… WITH DEEP

AFFECTION…………………………………………..Mahony….7

WITtI FINGERS WEARY AND

WV(IIRN…………………………………….-0….. 6 WITIIIN OUR.

SUM.MlIER IERMIITAGE………………………………….Stedma….

WITH SILENT AWE I HAILED THE SACRED

MORN……………………..Leyden…. WORD WAS BROUGHT TO THE DANISH

KING……………………Norton…. 6 WOODMIAN, SPARE THAT

TREE!……………………………………. Morris…. Y. YE GENTLE

SOULS! YE LIOVE-DEVOTED FAIR…………………………….2…1 Rel YE

LIVING LAMIPS, BY WVHOSE DEAR L1GHIT……………………………..e YE MIEANER BEAUTIES OF THE NIGHIT…………………………… TV
tto(n…. “YES! ” I ANSWVERED YOU LAST NIGHT……………………… E.

B. Bmowniny…. YOU KNOVW WVE FRENCII STORIMED

RATISHON……………………….Bionin]…. O YOU MAY GIVE OVER

PLOUGH, BOYS……………………………….. Dobell…. 201 503 518

29, 532 310

Page 722 view page image

Powered by DLXS

To comment or inquire about content, contact moa-feedback@umich.edu To report errors, contact umdl-help@umich.edu Reprint Information for this collection