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CHARLES JEFFERYS. 1807-1865.
Come o'er the moonlit sea,
The Moonlit Sea.
The Rose of Allandale. Meek and lowly, pure and holy, Chief among the “ blessed three."
Charity Come, wander with me, for the moonbeams are bright On river and forest, o'er mountain and lea.
Come, wander with me. A word in season spoken May calm the troubled breast.
A word in Season. The bud is on the bough again, The leaf is on the tree. The Meeting of Spring and Summer'.
I have heard the mavis singing
Its love-song to the morn;
To the rose just newly born. Mary of Argyle.
Through many changing years;
We have lived and lored together.
LADY DUFFERIN. 1807-1867.
I'm sitting on the stile, Mary,
Lament of the Irish Emigrant.
For the poor make no new friends;
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 1807-1882.
(From the edition of 1886.)
Voices of the Night. Prelude.
“Life is but an empty dream !”
A Psalm of Life.
And the grave is not its goal ;
lbid. Art is long, and time is fleeting, 8
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Let the dead Past bury its dead !
We can make our lives sublime,
1 See Philip Sidney, page 34.
2 Things are not always what they seem. – PHEDRUS : Fables, book ir. Fable 2. 3 See Chaucer, page 6.
Art is long, life is short. – GOETHE: Wilhelm Meister, vii. 9. 4 Our lives are but our marches to the grave.-BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER: The Humorous Lieutenant, act iii. sc. 5.
5 See Byron, page 553.
There is a reaper whose name is Death,
And with his sickle keen
The Reaper and the Flowers.
The star of the unconquered will.
The Light of Stars.
Oh, fear not in a world like this,
And thou shalt know erelong,
To suffer and be strong.
Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden,
Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine.
The hooded clouds, like friars,
Tell their beads in drops of rain.
Sunrise on the Hills.
No one is so accursed by fate,
But some heart, though unknown,
For Time will teach thee soon the truth,
Il is not always May.
The Rainy Day.
1 There is a Reaper whose name is death. — ARXIM AND BRENTANO: Erntelied. (From “Des Knaben Wunderhorn,” ed. 1857, vol. i. p. 59.)
2 Never look for birds of this year in the nests of the last. — CERVANTES: Don Quixote, part ii. chap. lxxiv.
The prayer of Ajax was for light.'
The Goblet of Life.
The Spanish Student Act ii. Sc. 3.
Let me review the scene,
A Gleam of Sunshine.
Falls from the wings of Night,
From an eagle in his flight. The Day is done.
That is not akin to pain,
And the cares that infest the day
1 The light of Heaven restore; Give me to see, and Ajax asks no more.
POPE: The Iliad, book xvii. line 730. 2 See Byron, page 553.
Sail on, ( Ship of State ! Sail on, O Union, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate! The Building of the Ship. Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, Are all with thee, are all with thee!
Ibid. The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rustling in the dark. The Fire of Drift-wood. There is no flock, however watched and tended,
But one dead lamb is there;
Ibid. But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise.
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers
May be heaven's distant lamps.
There is no death! What seems so is transition;
This life of mortal breath
Whose portal we call Death.
She lives whom we call dead.
In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
The Builders. This is the forest primeval.
Erangeline. Part i.