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But, with her heart, if not her ear,
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.
IF to be absent were to be
Away from thee;
You or I were alone ;
To swell my sail,
The foaming blue-god's rage ;
Our faith and troth,
All time and space controls :
If thus our lips and eyes
COLONEL RICHARD LOVELACE
A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN
OF a' the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly like the west;
The lassie I lo'e best.
And monie a hill's between ;
Is ever wi' my Jean.
I see her sweet and fair ;
TO HER ABSENT SAILOR.
«• THE TENT ON THE BEACH."
Her window opens to the bay,
In prayer she kneels :
Of stranger keels.
“Blown out and in by summer gales,
Before me glide;
The waves divide.
"O thou ! with whom the night is day
Where lingers he.
Of wind and sea.
waves conceal, And, ye wild sea
a-birds, hither wheel
Or dying wail !
That stifles breath.
Of life in death !”
It might have been the evening breeze
That rose and fell;
FROM “ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL." I an undone : there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. It were all one, That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it, he is so above me : In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself : The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague, To see him ev'ry hour; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table, - heart too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favor : But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his relics.
THE SUN UPON THE LAKE IS LOW.
The sun upon the lake is low,
The wild birds hush their song,
Yet Leonard tarries long.
From home and love divide,
Each to the loved one's side.
The noble dame on turret high,
Who waits her gallant knight,
The flash of armor bright.
The level ray to shade,
For Colin's darkening plaid.
By day they swam apart,
The hind beside the hart.
Twitters his closing song,
But Leonard tarries long !
O, SAW YE BONNIE LESLEY 1
O, saw ye bonnie Lesley
As she gaed o'er the border ? She's gane, like Alexander,
To spread her conquests farther.
To see her is to love her,
And love but her forever ;
And ne'er made sic anither!
Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,
Thy subjects we, before thee; Thou art divine, fair sley
The hearts o' men adore thee.
The deil he could na scaith thee,
Or aught that wad belang thee; He'd look into thy bonnie face,
And say “I canna wrang thee !'
The Powers aboon will tent thee;
Misfortune sha' na steer thee;
That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.
Return again, fair Lesley,
Return to Caledonie !
There's nane again sae bonnie.
I've wandered east, I've wandered west,
Through mony a weary way;
The luve o life's young day!
May weel be black gin Yule ;
Where first fond luve grows cule.
O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,
The thochts o' bygane years
And blind my een wi' tears :
And sair and sick I pine,
The blithe blinks o' langsyne.
'T was then we luvit ilk ither veci,
'T was then we tua did part : Sweet time --- sad time ! twa bairns at scule,
Twa bairns, and but ae heart!
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
I marvel, Jeanie Morrison,
Gin I hae been to thee . As closely twined wi' earliest thochts
As ye hae been to me?
Thine ear as it does mine!
Wi' dreamings o' langsyne?
I've borne a weary lot ;
Ye never were forgot.
Still travels on its way ;
The luve o' life's young day.
Since we were sindered young
The music o' your tongue ;
And happy could I die,
O' bygone days and me!
'T was then we sat on ae laigh bink,
To leir ilk ither lear; Ånd tones and looks and smiles were shed,
I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet,
When sitting on that bink, Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof,
What our wee heads could think.
Wi' ae buik on our knee,
My lesson was in thee.
0, mind ye how we hung our heads,
How cheeks brent red wi' shame, Whene'er the scule-weans, laughin', said
We cleeked thegither hame ? And mind ye o' the Saturdays,
(The scule then skail't at noon,) When we ran off to speel the braes, —
The broomy braes o' June ?
My head rins round and round about, –
My heart flows like a sea,
O' scule-time, and o' thee.
O lichtsome days and lang,
Like simmer blossoms sprang ! 0, mind ye, luve, how aft we left
The deavin' dinson w toun,
And hear its waters croon ?
The flowers burst round our feet, And in the gloamin' o' the wood
The throssil whusslit sweet ;
The throssil whusslit in the wood,
The burn sang to the trees,
Concerted harmonies ;
For hours thegither sat
Wi' very gladness grat.
Had ony power to speak !
O brother, the gods were good to you.
Sleep, and be glad while the world endures. Be well content as the years wear through ;
Give thanks for life, and the loves and lures ; Give thanks for life, O brother, and death, For the sweet last sound of her feet, her breath, For gifts she gave you, gracious and few,
Tears and kisses, that lady of yours.
DAY, IN MELTING PURPLE DYING
Day, in melting purple dying ;
Ye but waken my distress;
Thou, to whom I love to hearken,
Veil, if ill, thy soul's intent,
Save thy toiling, spare thy treasure ;
Gifts and gold are naught to me,
I would only look on thee!
Yet but torture, if comprest
Absent still! Ah! come and bless me!
In a look if death there be,
BY THE ALMA RIVER.
Willie, fold your little hands;
Let it drop, — that “soldier" toy ; Look where father's picture stands,
Father, that here kissed his boy
By the Alma River !”
Ask no more, child. Never heed
Either Russ, or Frank, or Turk; Right of nations, trampled creed,
Chance-poised victory's bloody work ; Any flag i' the wind may roll On thy heights, Sevastopol !
Rest, and be glad of the gods ; but I,
How shall I praise them, or how take rest ?
For me that know not of worst or best,
As love came close to you, breast to breast.
I shall never be friends again with roses ;
As a wave of the sea turned back by song. There are sounds where the soul's delight takes fire, Face to face with its own desire ; A delight that rebels, a desire that reposes ;
I shall hate sweet music my whole life long.
The pulse of war and passion of wonder,
shine, 'The stars that sing and the loves that thunder,
The music burning at heart like wine,
These things are over, and no more mine.
These were a part of the playing I heard
Once, ere my love and my heart were at strife ; Love that sings and hath wings as a bird,
Balm of the wound and heft of the knife.
The wine and leaven of lovely life.
I shall go my ways, tread out my measure,
Fill the days of my daily breath
Do as the world doth, say as it saith ;
To feel you tread it to dust and death
Ah, had I not taken my life up and given
All that life gives and the years let go, The wine and money, the balm and leaven, The dreams reared high and the hopes brought
low, Come life, come death, not a word be said ; Should I lose you living, and vex you dead ? I shall never tell you on earth ; and in heaven,
If I cry to you then, will you hear or know?
ALGERNON OHARLES SWINBU'RNE.
Where he stands
How shall I watch for thee, when fears grow Willie, all to you and me
stronger, Is that spot, whate'er it be, no other word
As night grows dark and darker on the hill ! Stands — God sure the child's prayers heard – How shall I weep, when I can watch no longer ! Near the Alma River.
Ah ! art thou absent, art thou absent still? Willie, listen to the bells
Yet I should grieve not, though the eye that seeth Ringing in the town to-day; That's for victory. No knell swells
Gazeth through tears that makeits splendor dull; For the many swept away,
For oh! I sometimes fear when thou art with me, Hundreds, thousands. Let us weep,
My cup of happiness is all too full. We, who need not, -just to keep
Haste, haste thee home to thy mountain dwelling, Reason clear in thought and brain
Haste, as a bird unto its peaceful nest !
Haste, as a skiff, through tempests wide and
swelling, Who they were that fought and — fell
Flies to its haven of securest rest !
Poor the bed is, - poor and hard ;
ABSENCE. Sleeps upon the open sward,
What shall I do with all the days and hours Dreaming of us two at home;
That must be counted ere I see thy face? Or, beneath the starry dome,
How shall I charm the interval that lowers Digs out trenches in the dark,
Between this time and that sweet time of grace? Where he buries – Willie, mark ! Where he buries those who died
Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense,
Weary with longing ? Shall I flee away
Into past days, and with some fond pretence Willie, Willie, go to sleep ;
Cheat myself to forget the present day? God will help us, O my boy !
Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin He will make the dull hours creep
Of casting from me God's great gift of time ? Faster, and send news of joy ;
Shall I, these mists of memory locked within, When I need not shrink to meet
Leave and forget life's purposes sublime ? Those great placards in the street, That for weeks will ghastly stare
O, how or by what means may I contrive chill, say that prayer
To bring the hour that brings thee back more - a different one,
near ? Say, “0 God! Thy will be done
How may I teach my drooping hope to live By the Alma River."
Until that blessed time, and thou art here? I'll tell thee ; for thy sake I will lay hold
Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee,
In worthy deeds, each moment that is told HER HUSBAND.
While thou, beloved one! art far from me. LINGER not long. Home is not home without thee: For thee I will arouse my thoughts to try
Its dearest tokens do but make me mourn. 0, let its memory, like a chain about thee,
All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains; Gently compel and hasten thy return !
For thy dear sake I will walk patiently Linger not long. Though crowds should woo thy
Through these long hours, nor call their min
utes pains. staying, Bethink thee, can the mirth of thy friends,
I will this dreary blank of absence make
A noble task-time ; and will therein strive To follow excellence, and to o'ertake
More good than I have won since yet I live.
In some eyes Once again,
DINAH MARIA MULOCK.
THE WIFE TO
Costs the fond heart that sighs to have thee here?
As evening shadows stretch o'er moor and dell; So may my love and longing hallowed be,
And thy dear thought an influence divine.
FRANCES ANNS KEMBLE