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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!

For aught that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth :
But, either it was different in blood,
Or else misgrated in respect of years ;
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends;
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
Making it momentary as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any Iream ;
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
That, in a spleen, unfolels both heaven and earth,
And ere a man hath power to say,

Behold !
The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
So quick bright things come to confusion.

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SHAKESPEARE.

Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears

in his ee, Said, “Jenny, for their sakes, O marry me!”

THE BANKS O'DOON.

My heart it said nay, for I looked for Jamie

back ;

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,

But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ?

wrack ; How can ye chant, ye little birds,

The ship it was a wrack! Why didna Jamie And I sae weary, fu' o' care ?

dee? Thou 'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird, Or why do I live to say, Wae's me?

That wantons through the flowering thorn ; Thou minds me o' departed joys,

My father argued sair, my mother didna speak, Departed never to return.

But she lookit in my face till my heart was like

to break; Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon,

Sae they gied him my hand, though my heart To see the rose and woodbine twine;

was in the sea ; And ilka bird sang o' its luve,

And auld Robin Gray was gudeman to me.
And, fondly, sae did I o' mine.
Wi’ lightsome heart I pou'd a rose,

I hadna been a wife, a week but only four,

When, sitting sae mournfully at the door,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;
And my fause luver stole my rose,

I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I cou'dna think it he, But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

Till he said, “I'm come back for to marry thee!” ( sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say ; We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away :

I wish I were dead, but I'm no like to dee; AULD ROBIN GRAY.

And why do I live to say, Wae's me? When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; hame,

I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin; And a' the warld to sleep are gane ;

But I'll do my best a gude wife to be, The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my ee,

For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me. When my gudeman lies sound by me.

ROBERT BURNS.

LADY ANNE BARNARD

men:

ransom

Dane :

AULD ROB MORRIS.

Beside the sceptre. Thus I made my home

In the soft palace of a fairy Future ! There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, My father died; and I, the peasant-born, He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld | Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise

Out of the prison of my mean estate ; He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, And, with such jewels as the exploring mind And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. Brings from the caves of Knowledge, buy my She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; From those twin jailers of the daring heart, She's sweet as the ev’ning amang the new hay; Low birth and iron fortune. Thy bright image, As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea,

Glassed in my soul, took all the hues of glory, And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.

And lured me on to those inspiring toils But 0, she's an heiress, auld Robin 's a laird,

By which man masters men! For thee, I grew And my daddie has naught but a cot-house and A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages ! yard;

For thee, I sought to borrow from each Grace A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed,

And every Muse such attributes as lend The wounds I must hide that will soon be my And passion taught me poesy,

Ideal charms to Love. I thought of thee,

- of thee, dead.

And on the painter's canvas grew the life The day comes to me, but delight brings me of beauty! - Art became the shadow

Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes ! The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane ;

Men called me vain, some, mad, — I heeded I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,

not ;

for it was sweet, And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. But still toiled on, hoped on,

If not to win, to feel more worthy, thee ! 0, had she but been of a lower degree, I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour me !

The thoughts that burst their channels into song, 'O, how past describing had then been my bliss, And sent them to thee, such a tribute, lady, As now my distraction no words can express ! 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.

scorn!

That very hour — when passion, turned to wrath, PAULINE, by pride Resembled hatred most ; when thy disdain Angels have fallen ere thy time; by pride, — Made my whole soul a chaos — in that hour That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould The tempters found me a revengeful tool The evil spirit of a bitter love

For their revenge! Thou hadst trampled on the And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee.

worm,
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, - a spirit of bloom,
And joy and freshness, as spring itself
Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape !
I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man

LEFT BEHIND.
Entered the breast of the wild-dreaming boy ;
And from that hour I grew - what to the last It was the autumn of the year ;
I shall be — thine adorer! Well, this love,

The strawberry-leaves were red and sear;
Vain, frantic, -- guilty, if thou wilt, became October's airs were fresh and chill,
A fountain of ambition and bright hope ;

When, pausing on the windy hill, I thought of tales that by the winter hearth

The hill that overlooks the sea, Old gossips tell, - how maidens sprung from You talked confidingly to me, kings

Me whom your keen, artistic sight Have stooped from their high sphere; how Love, Has not yet learned to read aright, like Death,

Since I have veiled my heart from you, Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook And loved you better than you knew.

ROBERT BURNS.

LORD EDWARD BULWER LYTTON.

LINDA TO HAFED.

FROM "THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS."

You told me of your toilsome past;
The tardy honors won at last,
The trials borre, the conquests gained,
The longed-for boon of Fame attained ;
I knew that every victory
But lifted you away from me,
That every step of high emprise
But left me lowlier in your eyes ;
I watched the distance as it grew,
And loved you better than you knew.

You did not see the bitter trace
Of anguish sweep across my face ;
You did not hear my proud heart beat,
Heavy and slow, beneath your feet;
You thought of triumphs still unwon,
Of glorious deeds as yet undone ;
And I, the while you talked to me,
I watched the gulls float lonesomely,
Till lost amid the hungry blue,
And loved you better than you knew.

You walk the sunny side of fate ;
The wise world smiles, and calls you great ;
The golden fruitage of success
Drops at your feet in plenteousness;
And you have blessings manifold :
Renown and power and friends and gold,
They build a wall between us twain,
Which may not be thrown down again,
Alas! for I, the long years through,
Have loved you better than you knew.

“How eetly,” said the trembling mail,
Of her own gentle voice afraid,
So long had they in silence stood,
Looking upon that moonlight flood,
“How sweetly does the moonbean smile
To-night upon yon leafy isle !
Oft in my fancy's wanderings,
I've wished that little isle had wings,
And we, within its fairy bowers,

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 sears, My dreams, have boded all too right, We part — forever part — to-night! I knew, I knew it could not last, ’T was bright, ’t was heavenly, but 'tis past. 0, 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?

Your life's proud aim, your art's high truth,
Have kept the promise of your youth ;
And while you won the crown, which now
Breaks into bloom upon your brow,
My soul cried strongly out to you
Across the ocean's yearning blue,
While, unremembered and afar,
I watched you, as I watch a star
Through darkness struggling into view,
And loved you better than you knew.

THOMAS MOORE.

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VIOLA. A blank, my lord. She never told | In the spring a livelier iris changes on the her love,

burnished dove; But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns Feed on her damask cheek; she pined in thought; to thoughts of love. And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a monument,

Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?

be for one so young, We men may say more, swear more : but, indeed, And her eyes on all my motions with a mute Our shows are more than will ; for still we prove observance hung. Much in our vows, but little in our love.

And I said, “My cousin Amy, speak, and speak

the truth to me;

Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being LOCKSLEY HALL.

sets to thee."

SHAKESPEARE.

hazel eyes,

COMRADES, leave me here a little, while as yet On her pallid cheek and forehead came a color 't is early mom,

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

Locksley Hall : Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks the Saying, “I have hid my feelings, fearing they sandy tracts,

should do me wrong" ; And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into Saying, “Dost thou love me, cousin ?” weeping, cataracts.

I have loved thee long." Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere I Love took up the glass of time, and turned it in went to rest,

his glowing hands; Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in

golden sands. 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.

west.

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.

could see,

When I dipt into the future far as human eye O my cousin, shallow-hearted ! O my Amy,

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; In the spring the wanton lapwing gets himself Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a another crest;

shrewish tongue !

have sung,

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 dead, and love her for the spent its novel force,

love she bore? Something better than his dog, a little dearer than No, — she never loved me truly ; love is love for

his horse.

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.

overw

It may be my lord is weary, that his brain is Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy rwrought,

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 heart's disgrace,

his drunken sleep, Rolled in one another's arms, and silent in a last To thy widowed marriage-pillows, to the tears embrace.

that thou wilt weep. Cursed be the social wants that sin against the Thou shalt hear the “Never, never," whispered strength of youth !

by the phantom years, Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the And a song from out the distance in the ringing living truth!

of thine ears; Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient kind. nature's rule !

ness on thy pain. Cursed be the gold that gilds the straitened fore- Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow ; get thee to head of the fool !

thy rest again. Well -— 't is well that I should bluster ! - Hadst Nay, but nature brings thee solace ; for a tender thou less unworthy proved,

voice will cry ; Would to God — for I had loved thee more than "T is a purer life than thine, a lip to drain thy ever wife was loved.

trouble dry. 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, I will pluck it from my bosom, though my heart | Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the be at the root.

mother's breast.

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