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The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth when, sick for
The same that ofttimes hath
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self ! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.
In the next valley-glades:
OW that I, tying thy glass mask tightly,
He is with her; and they know that I know Where they are; what they do : they believe my
tears flow While they laugh, laugh at me, at me fled to the
drear Empty church to pray God in for them!—I am here.
Grind away, moisten and mash up thy paste,
That in the mortar—you call it a gum?
Had I but all of them, thee and thy treasures,
Soon, at the King's, but a lozenge to give
should drop dead !
Quick—is it finish'd ? The colour's too grim!
What a drop! She's not little, no minion like meThat's why she ensnared bim: this never will free The soul from those masculine eyes,—say,
6 no!” To that pulse's magnificent come-and-go.
For only last night, as they whisper'd, I brought My own eyes to bear on her so, that I thought Could I keep them one half minute fix'd, she
would fall, Shrivell’d; she fell not; yet this does it all!
Not that I bid you spare her the pain !
bite into its graceHe is sure to remember her dying face !
Is it done? take my mask off! Nay, be not morose.
Now, take all my jewels, gorge gold to your fill, You may kiss me, old man, on my mouth if you
will ! But brush this dust off me, lest horror it brings Ere I know it-next moment I dance at the King's.
INSCRIPTION FOR A FOUNTAIN.
EST! this little Fountain runs
Thus for aye:-It never stays
Nor the cold of winter days.
When the Syrian heat is worst,
Lest he may not slake his thirst :
THE RUOSE THAT DECK'D HER
an' then 'e died;
Wold vo'ke, old folk.
3 Varsiaken, forsaken.
An' roun' her comely neck she wore
The ruose did deck her breast.
She wā'k'do aluone wi' eyeballs wet
O' tik that deck'd her breast.
Var5 at her weddèn, jist avore
A bud to deck her breast.
An' then her cheäk wi' youthvul blood
now, as she wi' grief da pine,
1 Moornèn, mourning. Wāk’d, walked. Spik, lavender. * Đink, think. (“Đ” is an Anglo-Saxon letter, used by Mr. Barnes, and nearly equivalent to “ th.”) 5 Var, for. Yert, yet. 7 Bloodywâ'iors, (warriors,) name given to the garden wall-flower.