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O kiss me ere we part;

But give the cock a blow Grow closer to my heart.

Who did begin our woe!”

ANONYMOUS (Chinese). Translation My heart is warmer surely than the bosom of the

of WILLIAM R. ALGER. main. O joy ! O bliss of blisses !

My heart of hearts art thou. Come, bathe me with thy kisses,

THE PARTING OF ROMEO AND JULIET. My eyelids and my brow. Hark how the wild rain hisses,

JULIET. Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near And the loud sea roars below.

day:

It was the nightingale, and not the lark, Thy heart beats through thy rosy limbs, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; So gladly doth it stir ;

Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree : Thine eye in drops of gladness siims. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

I have bathed thee with the pleasant myrrh; ROMEO. It was the lark, the herald of the Thy locks are dripping balm ;

morn, Thou shalt not wander hence to-night, No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks I'll stay thee with my kisses.

Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east : To-night the roaring brine

Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Will rend thy golden tresses ;

Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. The ocean with the morrow light

I must be gone and live, or stay and die. Will be both blue and calm ;

JULIET. Yon light is not daylight, I know And the billow will embrace thee with a kiss as it, I : soft as mine.

It is some meteor, that the sun exhales,

To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
No Western odors wander

And light thee on thy way to Mantua :
On the black and moaning sea,

Therefore stay yet,

thou need'st not be gone. And when thou art dead, Leander,

ROMEO. Let me be ta’en, let me be put to My soul must follow thee !

death ; 0, go not yet, my love,

I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
Thy voice is sweet and low;

I'll say, yon gray is not the morning's eye, The deep salt wave breaks in above ”T is but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Those marble steps below.

Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The turret-stairs are wet

The vaulty heaven so high above our heads : That lead into the sea.

I have more care to stay than will to go ;Leander ! go not yet.

Come, death, and welcome ! Juliet wills it so. The pleasant stars have set :

How is’t, my soul ? let's talk, it is not day. 0, go not, go not yet,

Juliet. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away!
Or I will follow thee.

It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps.
Some say, the lark makes sweet division ;

This doth not so, for she divideth us :
THE PARTING LOVERS.

the lark and loathéd toad change

eyes : She says, “The cock crows, — hark !” 0, now I would they had changed voices too! He says, “No! still 't is dark.”

Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,

Hunting thee hence, with hunts-up-to the day,
She says, “The dawn grows bright,” 0, now be gone; more light and light it grows.
He says

“O
no, my Light."
ROMEO. More light and light,

- more dark

and dark our woes.
She
says, “Stand

up
and
say,

JULIET. Then, window, let day in, and let
Gets not the heaven gray ?".

life out.

ROMEO. Farewell, farewell ! one kiss, and I 'll He says, The morning star

descend.

(Descends.) Climbs the horizon's bar."

JULIET. Art thou gone so? my love ! my

lord ! my friend ! She says, “Then quick depart :

I must hear from thee every day i' the hour, Alas! you now must start ;

For in a minute there are many days :

ALFRED TENNYSON.

Some say,

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The sun shines bright in our old Kentucky home;

'T is summer, the darkeys are gay ; ADIEU, ADIEU ! MY NATIVE SHORE. The corn top's ripe and the meadow's in the bloom,

While the birds make music all the day; Adieu, adieu ! my native shore

The young folks roll on the little cabin floor, Fades o'er the waters blue;

All merry, all happy, all bright; The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, By'm by hard timescomesa knockin' at the door, And shrieks the wild sea-mew.

Then, iny old Kentucky home, good night!

CHORI'S.

Weep no more, my lady ; 0, weep no more

to-day ! We'll sing one song for my old Kentucky

home, For our old Kentucky home far away.

They hunt no more for the possum and the coon,

On the meadow, the hill, and the shore ;
They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon,

On the bench by the old cabin door ;
The day goes by, like a shadow o'er the heart,

With sorrow where all was delight; l'he tiine has come, when the darkeys have to part, Then, my old Kentucky home, good night!

Weep no more, my lady, &c. The head must bow, and the back will have to bend,

Wherever the darkey may go ; A few more days, and the troubles all will end,

In the field where the sugar-cane grow ; A few more days to tote the weary load,

No matter it will never be light; A few more days till we totter on the road, Then, my old Kentucky home, good night!

Weep no more, my lady, &c.

ANONYMOUS.

Would that breast were bared before thee

Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thee

Which thou ne'er canst know again : Would that breast, by thee glanced over,

Every inmost thought could show ! Then thou wouldst at last discover

'T was not well to spurn it so. Though the world for this commend thee,

Though it smile upon the blow, Even its praises must offend thee,

Founded on another's woe :
Though my many faults defaced me,

Could no other arm be found,
Than the one which once embraced me,

To inflict a cureless wound !
Yet, () yet, thyself deceive not:

Love may sink by slow decay, But by sudden wrench, believe not

Hearts can thus be torn away ; Still thine own its life retaineth, –

Still must mine, though bleeding, beat ; And the undying thought which paineth

Is — that we no more may meet. These are words of deeper sorrow

Than the wail above the dead ;
Both shall live, but every morrow

Wake us from a widowed bed.
And when thou wouldst solace gather,

When our child's first accents flow,
Wilt thou teach her to say

“ Father," Though his care she must forego ? When her little hands shall press thee,

When her lip to thine is pressed, Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,

Think of him thy love had blessed ! Should her lineaments resemble

Those thou nevermore mayst see,
Then thy heart will softly tremble

With a pulse yet true to me.
All my faults perchance thou knowest,

All my madness none can know ;
All my hopes, where'er thou goest,

Wither, yet with thee they go. Every feeling hath been shaken;

Pride which not a world could bow, Bows to thee, by thee forsaken,

Even my soul forsakes me now; But 't is done ; all words are idle,

Words from me are vainer still ; But the thoughts we cannot bridle

Force their way without the will.

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FAREWELL, THOU ART TOO DEAR. FAREWELL! thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou know'st thy estimate : The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; My bonds in thee are all determinate. For how do I hold thee but by thy granting! And for that riches where is my deserving? The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, And so my patent back again is swerving. Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not

knowing, Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking; So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, Comes home again, on better judgment making.

Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth Hatter; In sleep a king, but, waking, no such matter.

SHAKESPEARE.

AN EARNEST SUIT

TO HIS UNKIND MISTRESS NOT TO FORSAKE HIM

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear ;
A shudder comes o'er me —
Why wert thou so dear ?
They know not I knew thee
Who knew thee too well :
Long, long shall I rue thee
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met :
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.

BYRON.

AND wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay! say nay ! for shame!
To save thee from the blame
Of all my grief and grame.
And wilt thou leave me thus?

Say nay! say nay!
And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath loved thee so long,
In wealth and woe among ?
And is thy heart so strong
As for to leave me thus?

Say nay! say nay y!
And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath given thee my heart,
Never for to depart,
Neither for pain nor smart ?
And wilt thou leave me thus ?

Say nay! say nav! And wilt thou leave me thus, And have no more pity Of him that loveth thee ! Alas! thy cruelty ! And wilt thou leave me thus?

Sæg nay! say nay!

COME, LET US KISSE AND PARTE. Since there's no helpe, - come, let us kisse 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 speechless lies;

SIR THOMAS WYAT

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FROM

PEACE! what can tears avail ?
She lies all dumb and pale,
And from her eye

THE DYING GERTRUDE TO WALDE.

GRAVE.
The spirit of lovely life is fading, –
And she must die !

GERTRUDE OF WYOMING.”
Why looks the lover wroth, the friend upbraid-
ing?

Clasp me a little longer on the brink Reply, reply!

Of fate! while I can feel thy dear caress ;

And when this heart hath ceased to beat, – 0, Hath she not dwelt too long

think, Midst pain, and grief, and wrong?

And let it mitigate thy woe's excess, Then why not die ?

That thou hast been to me all tenderness, Why suffer again her doom of sorrow,

And friend to more than human friendship just. And hopeless lie ?

Oh! by that retrospect of happiness, Why nurse the trembling dream until to-morrow? And by the hopes of an immortal trust, Reply, reply!

God shall assuage thy pangs, when I am laid in

dust! Death! Take her to thine arms, In all her stainless charms !

Go, Henry, go not back, when I depart, And with her fly

The scene thy bursting tears too deep will move,

Where my dear father took thee to his heart, To hearenly haunts, where, clad in brightness, The angels lie!

And Gertrude thought it ecstasy to rove
Wilt bear her there, 0 death! in all her whiteness? With thee, as with an angel, through the grove
Reply, reply

Of peace, imagining her lot was cast
In heaven ; for ours was not like earthly love.

BARRY CORNWALL

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