DISAPPOINTMENT AND ESTRANGEMENT. THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. FROM MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM." FOR aught that ever I could read, The course of true love never did run smooth: AULD ROBIN GRAY. Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and socht me for his bride; But, saving a croun, he had naething else beside. To mak that croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea; And the croun and the pund were baith for me! He hadna been awa a week but only twa, When my mother she fell sick, and the cow was stown awa; My father brak his arm, and young Jamie at the sea, And auld Robin Gray cam' a-courtin' me. My father cou'dna work, and my mother cou'dna spin; I toiled day and nicht, but their bread I cou'dna win; Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears in his ee, Said, "Jenny, for their sakes, O marry me!" My heart it said nay, for I looked for Jamie back; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack; The ship it was a wrack! Why didna Jamie dee? Or why do I live to say, Wae 's me? O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say ; WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin; hame, And a' the warld to sleep are gane; The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my ee, When my gudeman lies sound by me. I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin; LADY ANNE BARNARD AULD ROB MORRIS. THERE's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men: He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay; As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. But O, she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird, And my daddie has naught but a cot-house and yard; A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed, The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. From those twin jailers of the daring heart, By which man masters men! For thee, I grew And on the painter's canvas grew the life The day comes to me, but delight brings me Of beauty! - Art became the shadow nane: The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane; I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist, And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. O, had she but been of a lower degree, Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes! Men called me vain, some, mad, I heeded not; But still toiled on, hoped on, for it was sweet, If not to win, to feel more worthy, thee! I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour me! O, how past describing had then been my bliss, As now my distraction no words can express! ROBERT BURNS. The thoughts that burst their channels into song, And sent them to thee, such a tribute, lady, As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest. The name-appended by the burning heart That longed to show its idol what bright things It had created - yea, the enthusiast's name, CLAUDE MELNOTTE'S APOLOGY AND That should have been thy triumph, was thy DEFENCE. PAULINE, by pride Angels have fallen ere thy time; by pride, That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould The evil spirit of a bitter love And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. From my first years my soul was filled with thee; It turned, and stung thee ! I saw thee midst the flowers the lowly boy Tended, unmarked by thee, LINDA TO HAFED. FROM THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS." "How sweetly," said the trembling maid, Oft in my fancy's wanderings, Were wafted off to seas unknown, Where not a pulse should beat but ours, And we might live, love, die alone! Far from the cruel and the cold, Where the bright eyes of angels only Should come around us, to behold A paradise so pure and lonely! Would this be world enough for thee?"— Playful she turned, that he might see The passing smile her cheek put on ; But when she marked how mournfully His eyes met hers, that smile was gone; And, bursting into heartfelt tears, "Yes, yes," she cried, "my hourly fears, My dreams, have boded all too right, We part forever part to-night! I knew, I knew it could not last, 'Twas bright, 't was heavenly, but 'tis past. O, ever thus, from childhood's hour, I've seen my fondest hopes decay; I never loved a tree or flower But 't was the first to fade away. I never nursed a dear gazelle, To glad me with its soft black eye, But when it came to know me well, And love me, it was sure to die! Now, too, the joy most like divine Of all I ever dreamt or knew, To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine, — O misery! must I lose that too? THOMAS MOORE UNREQUITED LOVE. "6 FROM TWELFTH NIGHT." VIOLA. Ay, but I know, DUKE. What dost thou know? VIOLA. Too well what love women to men may owe: In faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter loved a man, As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship. DUKE. And what's her history? VIOLA. A blank, my lord. She never told | In the spring a livelier iris changes on the her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, burnished dove; In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for one so young, observance hung. We men may say more, swear more: but, indeed, And her eyes on all my motions with a mute LOCKSLEY HALL. SHAKESPEARE. And I said, “My cousin Amy, speak, and speak the truth to me; Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets to thee." COMRADES, leave me here a little, while as yet On her pallid cheek and forehead came a color 't is early morn, and a light, Leave me here, and when you want me, sound As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the upon the bugle horn. northern night. 'Tis the place, and all around it, as of old, the | And she turned, her bosom shaken with a curlews call, sudden storm of sighs; Dreary gleams about the moorland, flying over All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising through Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the mellow shade, the chords with might; Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, passed braid. in music out of sight. Here about the beach I wandered, nourishing a Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the youth sublime copses ring, With the fairy tales of science, and the long And her whisper thronged my pulses with the result of time; fulness of the spring. When the centuries behind me like a fruitful Many an evening by the waters did we watch the land reposed; stately ships, When I clung to all the present for the promise And our spirits rushed together at the touching that it closed; of the lips. When I dipt into the future far as human eye O my cousin, shallow-hearted! O my Amy, could see, mine no more! Saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder O the dreary, dreary moorland! O the barren, that would be. barren shore ! In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all songs robin's breast; have sung, In the spring the wanton lapwing gets himself Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a another crest; shrewish tongue! Is it well to wish thee happy?— having known | Never! though my mortal summers to such length me; to decline of years should come On a range of lower feelings and a narrower heart As the many-wintered crow that leads the clang than mine! ing rookery home. Yet it shall be thou shalt lower to his level day Where is comfort? in division of the records of by day, the mind? What is fine within thee growing coarse to sym- Can I part her from herself, and love her, as 1 pathize with clay. knew her, kind? As the husband is, the wife is; thou art mated I remember one that perished; sweetly did she with a clown, speak and move; And the grossness of his nature will have weight | Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was to drag thee down. to love. He will hold thee, when his passion shall have Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the spent its novel force, love she bore? Something better than his dog, a little dearer than No, his horse. she never loved me truly; love is love for evermore. What is this? his eyes are heavy, -think not Comfort? comfort scorned of devils! this is truth they are glazed with wine. the poet sings, Go to him; it is thy duty, -kiss him; take his That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering hand in thine. happier things. It may be my lord is weary, that his brain is Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy overwrought, heart be put to proof, Soothe him with thy finer fancies, touch him with In the dead, unhappy night, and when the rain thy lighter thought. is on the roof. He will answer to the purpose, easy things to un- Like a dog, he hunts in dreams; and thou art derstand, staring at the wall, Better thou wert dead before me, though I slew Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and the thee with my hands. shadows rise and fall. Better thou and I were lying, hidden from the Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing to his drunken sleep, heart's disgrace, Rolled in one another's arms, and silent in a last To thy widowed marriage-pillows, to the tears embrace. that thou wilt weep. shalt hear the "Never, never," whispered by the phantom years, And a song from out the distance in the ringing of thine ears; And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient kindness on thy pain. Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow; get thee to thy rest again. Am I mad, that I should cherish that which bears | Baby lips will laugh me down; my latest rival but bitter fruit? brings thee rest, mother's breast. I will pluck it from my bosom, though my heart Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the be at the root. |