Oh, come again, ye merry times! Old times! old times! WHAT THE VOICE SAID. By WHITTIER an American poet. MADDEN'D by earth's wrong and evil, "Lord!" I cried in sudden ire, "From thy right hand, clothed with thunder, Shake the bolted fire! "Love is lost, and Faith is dying: "Here the dying wail of Famine, Reaping men like grain. "Where is God, that we should fear Him?' Thus the earth-born Titans say; 'God! if thou art living, hear us!' Thus the weak ones pray. "Thou, the patient Heaven upbraiding," "Fearless brow to Him uplifting, “Know'st thou not all germs of evil "Could'st thou boast, oh child of weakness! "Thou hast seen two streamlets gushing "Glideth one through greenest valleys, "Is it choice whereby the Parsee "He alone, whose hand is bounding "For thyself, while wrong and sorrow Make to thee their strong appeal, Coward wert thou not to utter What the heart must feel. "Earnest words must needs be spoken, When the warm heart bleeds, or burns, With its scorn of wrong, or pity "But by all thy nature's weakness, Be thou, in rebuking evil, Conscious of thine own. "Not the less shall stern-eyed Duty Cease not, Voice of holy speaking, So, when thoughts of evil doers TO THE WATER NYMPHS, DRINKING AT A FOUNTAIN. By HERRICK. REACH With your whiter hands to me, Some crystal of the spring; And I, about the cup shall see Fresh lilies flourishing. Or else, sweet nymphs, do you but this; And I shall see, by that one kiss, REJOICE IN MAY. By an old poet called EDWARDS. WHEN May is in his prime, Then may each heart rejoice ; When May bedecks each branch with green, The lively sap creeps up Into the blooming thorn: The flowers, which cold in prison kept, All Nature's imps triumph May makes the cheerful hue, May breeds and brings new blood, May marcheth throughout every limb, May makes the merry mood. May pricketh gentle hearts Their warbling notes to tune. Full strange it is, yet some, we see, Do make their May in June. Thus things are strangely wrought, All ye that live on earth, Use May, while that you may, Your liking and your lust Is fresh whiles May doth last : When May is gone, of all the year The pleasant time is past. THE REMONSTRANCE. By BARRY CORNWALL. THOU'LT take me with thee, my love, my love? Thou know'st 'tis the same delight to me. All ready to live and die with thee, Her heart was in the song; Thou wilt not leave me behind, behind, Thou can'st not banish thy love from thee! Her heart was in the song; What say'st thou, my soldier, my love, my pride? Ah, then, my dear, I know I may love-live-die with thee! Her heart was in the song; |