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ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

SIDNEY DOBELL

Jesus, victim, comprehending

As a peculiar darling? Lo, the flies
Love's divine self-abnegation,

Hum o'er him ! Lo, a feather from the crow Cleanse my love in its self-spending, Falls in his parted lips ! Lo, his dead eyes And absorb the poor libation !

See not the raven! Lo, the worm, the worm
Wind my thread of life up higher, Creeps from his festering corse! My God! my
Up through angels' hands of fire !

God!
I aspire while I expire !

O Lord, Thou doest well. I am content.
If Thou have need of him he shall not stay.
But as one calleth to a servant, saying

At such a time be with me," so, O Lord, HOMESICK.

Call him to Thee! O, bid him not in haste Come to me, O my Mother ! come to me,

Straight whence he standeth. Let him lay aside

The soiléd tools of labor. Thine own son slowly dying far away!

Let him wash Through the moist ways of the wide ocean, blown His hands of blood. Let him array himself By great invisible winds, come stately ships

Meet for his Lord, pure from the sweat and fume To this calm bay for quiet anchorage ;

Of corporal travail ! Lord, if he must die, They come, they rest awhile, they go away,

Let him die here. O, take him where Thou garest! But, o my Mother, never comest thou !

And even as once I held him in my womb The snow is round thy dwelling, the white snow, Till all things were fulfilled, and he came forth, That cold soft revelation pure as light,

So, O Lord, let me hold him in my grave And the pine-spire is mystically fringed, Till the time come, and Thou, who settest when Laced with incrusted silver. Here - ah me!

The hinds shall calve, ordain a better birth ; The winter is decrepit, underborn,

And as I looked and saw my son, and wept A leper with no power but his disease.

For joy, I look again and see my son, Why am I from thee, Mother, far from thee?

And weep again for joy of him and Thee ! Far from the frost enchantment, and the woods Jewelled from bough to bough? O home, my

home!
O river in the valley of my home,

THE FAREWELL
With mazy-winding motion intricate,
Twisting thy deathless music underneath
The polished ice-work, — must I nevermore
Behold thee with familiar eyes, and watch

GONE, gone, — sold and gone,
Thy beauty changing with the changeful day,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone. Thy beauty constant to the constant change? Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings,

Where the noisome insect stings,
Where the fever demon strews

Poison with the falling dews,
THE ABSENT SOLDIER SON.

Where the sickly sunbeams glare

Through the hot and misty air,
THE ROMAN."

OF A VIRGINIA SLAVE MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTERS SOLD

INTO SOUTHERN BONDAGE.

DAVID GRAY.

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Gone, gone, — sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone, Lord, I am weeping. As Thou wilt, O Lord,

From Virginia's hill and waters, Do with him as Thou wilt; but O my God,

Woe is me, my stolen daughters ! Let him come back to die! Let not the fowls O' the air defile the body of my child,

Gone, gone, - sold and gone, My own fair child, that when he was a babe,

the rice-swamp dank and lone. I lift up in my arms and gave to Thee !

There no mother's eye is near them, Let not his garment, Lord, be vilely parted,

There no mother's ear can hear them ; Nor the fine linen which these hands have spun Never, when the torturing lash Fall to the stranger's lot! Shall the wild bird, Seams their back with many a gaslı, That would have pilfered of the ox, this year Shall a mother's kindness bless them, Disdain the pens and stalls ? Shall her blind Or a mother's arms caress them. young,

Gone, gone, - sold and gone, That on the fleck and moult of brutish beasts

To the rice-swamp dank and lone, Had been too happy, sleep in cloth of gold

From Virginia's hills and waters, Whereof each thread is to this beating heart

Woe is me, my stolen daughters :

FROM

Gone, gone,

sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone. O, when weary, sad, and slow, From the fields at night they go, Faint with toil, and racked with pain, To their cheerless homes again, There no brother's voice shall greet them,There no father's welcome meet them. Gone, gone,

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Gone, gonc, — sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
Toiling through the weary day,
And at night the spoiler's prey.
O that they had earlier died,
Sleeping calmly, side by side,
Where the tyrant's power is o'er,
And the fetter galls no more !
Gone, gone,

- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters,
Woe is me, my stolen daughters !
Gone, gone,

- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
By the holy love He beareth,
By the bruised reed He spareth, -
O, may He, to whom alone
All their cruel wrongs are known,
Still their hope and refuge prove,
With a more than mother's love.

Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters,
Woe is me, my stolen daughters !

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

But O blithe breeze ! and O 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 sought,

One purpose hold where'er they fare ; O bounding breeze, O rushing seas,

At last, at last, unite them there.

ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.

AE FOND KISS BEFORE WE PART.

AE fond kiss and then we sever !
Ae fareweel, alas ! forever !
Deep in heart-wrung 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.

sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters,
Woe is me, my stolen daughters !

Gone, gone, - sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From the tree whose shadow lay
On their childhood's place of play,
From the cool spring where they drank, -
Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank,
From the solemn house of prayer,
And the holy counsels there,

Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters,
Woe is me, my stolen daughters !

PARTING.

AS SHIPS BECALMED.

As ships becalmed at eve, that lay

With canvas drooping, side by side, Two towers of sail, at dawn of day

Are scarce long leagues apart descried.

When fell the night, up sprang the breeze,

And all the darkling hours they plied ; Nor dreamt but each the selfsame seas

By each was cleaving, side by side :

Een so —

but why the tale reveal Of those whom, year by year unchanged, Brief absence joined anew, 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 light, in darkness too ! Through winds and tides one compass guides :

To that and your own selves be true.

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.

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Nor need I write - to tell the tale

My pen were doubly weak : O, what can idle words avail,

Unless the heart could speak ?

I may not, dare not, fancy now
The grief that clouds thy lovely brow,

* My life, I love thee.

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ADIEU, ADIEU ! OUR DREAM OF LOVE, “If to fair India's coast we sail,

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, ADIEU, adieu ! our dream of love

Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, Was far too sweet to linger long ;

Thy skin is ivory so white. Such hopes may bloom in bowers above,

Thus every beauteous object that I view But here they mock the fond and young.

Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. We met in hope, we part in tears ! Yet 0, 't is sadly sweet to know

“Though battle call me from thy arms, That life, in all its future years,

Let not my pretty Susan mourn ; Can reach us with no heavier blow !

Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms

William shall to his dear return. The hour is come, the spell is past;

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, Far, far from thee, my only love,

Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye." Youth's earliest hope, and manhood's last, My darkened spirit turns to rove.

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The sails their swelling bosom spread ; Adieu, adieu! 0, dull and dread

No longer must she stay aboard ; Sinks on the ear that parting knell !

They kissed, she sighed, he hung his heail. Hope and the dreams of love lie dead, Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land ; To them and thee, farewell, farewell ! “Allieu !" she cries; and waved her lily hand.

JOHN GAY.

THOMAS K. HERVEY.

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