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When at dawn she wakens, and her fair face Come, merry mcrth of the cuckoo and the gazes

violet! Out on the weather through the window Come, weeping loveliness in all thy blue panes,

delight! Beauteous she looks! like a white water-lily Lo! the nest is ready, let me not languisb Bursting out of bud on the rippled river longer! plains.

Bring her to my arms on the first May niglit When from bed she rises, clothed from neck

GEORGE MEREDTIR. to ankle In her long night gown, sweet as boughs of

Beauteous she looks! like a tall garden lily,

Pure from the night and perfect for the day!

Lord Ronald courted Lady Clare,

I trow they did not part in scorn; Happy, happy time, when the gray star twin

Lord Ronald, her cousin, courted her, kles

And they will wed the morrow morn. Over the fields all fresh with bloomy dew; When the cold-cheeked dawn grows ruddy

“ He does not love me for my birth, up the twilight,

Nor for my lands so broad and fair; And the gold sun wakes and weds her in the He loves me for my own true worth, blue.

And that is well.” said Lady Clare. Then when my darling tempts tho early breezes,

In there came old Alice the nurse, She the only star that dies not with the dark!

Said, “Who was this that went from theci" Powerless to speak all the ardor of my pas- “ It was my cousin,” said Lady Clare, sion,

“ To-morrow he weds with me." I catch her little hand as we listen to the lark.

"Oh God be thanked !” said Alice the nurse

“That all comes round so just and fair: Shall the birds in vain then valentine their Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands, sweethearts?

And you are not the Lady Clare."
Season after season tell a fruitless tale?
Will not the virgin listen to their voices?

*. Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my

nurse ?" Take the honeyed meaning, wear the bridal veil ?

Said Lady Clare, “that ye speak so wild i' Fears she frosts of winter, fears she the bare “As God's above,” said Alice the nurse, branches?

“I speak the truth: you are my child. Waits she the garlands of spring for her

“The old earl's daughter died at my breast. dower ?

I speak the truth as I live by bread! Is she a nightingale that will not be nested

I buried her like my own sweet child, Till the April woodland has built her bridal

And put my child in her stead." bower?

"Falsely, falsely have ye done, Then come, merry April, with all thy birds

O mother,” she said, “if this be true, and beauties!

To keep the best man under the sun With thy crescent brows and thy flcwery,

So many years from his due." showery glee; With thy budding leafage and fresh green “Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse pastures;

" But keep the secret for your life, And may thy lustrous crescent grow a bon- and all you have will be Lord Ronald's, eyinoon for me!

When you are man and wite."

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She told me all her friends bad suid;

I raged against the public liar.
She talked as if her love were dead;

But in my words were seeds of fire.
"No more of love; your sex is known:

I never will be twice deceived. Henceforth I trust the man alone

The woman cannot be believed.

So are you to my thoughts, as food to life,
Or as sweet-seasoned showers are to the

And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found;
Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treat-

Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then bettered that the world may see my

Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,
And by and by clean starved for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight,
Save what is had or must from you be took.

Thus do I pine and suffer day by day:
Or gluttoning on all, or all away.


* Through slander, meanest spawn oí hell

(And woman's slander is the worst), And

you, whom once I loved so wellThrough you my life will be accurst.” I spoke with heart, and heat and force,

I shook her breast with vague alarms, Like torrents from a mountain source

We rushed into each other's arms.


FAREWELL! thou art too dear for my possessWe parted. Sweetly gleamed the stars,

And sweet the vapor-braided blue; And like enough thou know'st thy estimate;
Low breezes fanned the belfry bars,

The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing
As homeward by the church I drew. My bonds in thee are all determinate.
The very graves appeared to smile,

For how do I hold thee but by thy granting!
So fresh they rose in shadowed swells; And for that riches where is my deserving?
“Dark porch,” I said, "and silent aisle, The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
There comes a sound of marriage bells." And so my patent back again is swerving.
ALFRED TENXYSON, Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not


Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking;

So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,

Comes home again, on better judgment mak:
That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, ing.
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; Thus bave I had thee, as a dream doth
The ornament of beauty is suspect,

A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. In sleep a king; but waking no such matter.
So thou be good, slander doth but approve
Thy worth the greater, being wooed of time;
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime

Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness; Thou hast passed by the ambush of young Some say thy grace is youth, and gentle sport: days,

Both grace and faults are loved of more and Either not assailed, or victor being charged ;

less; Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise,

Thou mak'st faults graces that to thee resorta
To tie up envy, evermore enlarged.

As on the finger of a throned queen
If some suspect of ill masked not thy show, The basest jewel will be well esteemed,
Then, thou alone kingdoms of hearts So are those errors that in thee are seen,
shouldst owe.

To truths translated, and for true things


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How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, The forward violet thus did I chide :-
If like a lamb he could his looks translate! Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy
How many gazers might'st thou lead away,

sweet that smells, If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy If not from my love's breath? the purple state !

pride But do not so; I love thee in such sort Which on thy soft cheek for complexion As thou being mine, mine is thy good re- dwells, port.

In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.
The lily I condemned for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair;

The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
How like a winter hath my absence been

One blushing shame, another white despair; From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both, What freezings have I felt, what dark days And to this robbery had annexed thy breath; seen,

But for his theft, in pride of all his growth What old December's bareness everywhere! A vengeful canker eat him up to death. And yet this time removed was summer's More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, time;

But sweet in color it had stolen from thee. The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, Like widowed wombs after their lords' de

cease; Yet this abundant issue seemed to me

WHEN in the chronicle of wasted time But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit;

I see descriptions of the fairest wights, For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, And, thou away, the very birds are mute;

In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights ; Or, if they sing, 't is with so dull a cheer,

Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, That leaves look pale, dreading the win- Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, ter 's near.

I see their antique pen would have expressed
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies

Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
From you have I been absent in the spring, And for they looked but with divining eyes,
When proud-pied April dressed in all his They had not skill enough your worth to sing ;

For we, which now behold these present Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,

days, That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to him.

praise. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odor and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul they grew;

Of the wide world, dreaming on things to Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,

come, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; Can yet the lease of my true love control, They are but sweet, but figures of delight,

Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. Drawn after you—you pattern of all those. The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured,

Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away, And the sad augurs mock their own presage :
As with ycur shallow I with these did play. Incertainties now crown themselves assured,

And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now, with the drops of this most balmy time
My love looks fresh, and death to me sub-

Since, spite of him, I 'll live in this poor rhyme,
While he insults o'er dull and speechless
tribes :

Come sleep, O sleep! the certain knot of And thou in this shalt find thy monument,

peace, When tyrants' crests, and tombs of brass The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe; are spent.

The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's re

lease, The indifferent judge between the high and


With shield of proof, shield me from out the Let me not to the marriage of true minds


Of those fierce darts despair doth at me Admit impediments; love is not love,

throw. Which alters when it alteration finds,

Oh make in me those civil wars to cease; Or bends with the remover to remove. Oh no! it is an ever-fixed mark,

I will good tribute pay if thou do so.

Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;

bed, It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth 's unknown, although his height A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, be taken.

A rosy garland and a weary head; Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and And if these things, as being thine by right,

Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me, cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see. Love alters not with his brief hours and

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error, and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved. In martial sports I had my cunning tried,

And yet to break more staves did mo ad

dress; While with the people's shouts I must confess,

Youth, luck, and praise e'en filled my veins OR! never say that I was false of heart,

with pride; Though absence seemed my flame to qualify. When Cupid having me, his slave, descried As easy might I from myself depart,

In Mars's livery, prancing in the press, As from my soul, which in thy breast doth “What now, Sir Fool?” said he, “I would lie.

no less; That is my home of love; if I have ranged, Look here I say.”—I looked and Stella spied, Like him that travels, I return again

Who, hard by, made a window send forth Just to the time, not with the time exchanged; light; So that myself bring water for my stain. My heart then quaked; then dazzled were Never believe, though in my nature reigned All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, One hand forgot to rule, the other to fight; That it could so preposterously be stained, Nor trumpet's sound I heard, nor friendly To leave for nothing all thy sum of good;

cries. For nothing this wide universe I call, My foe came on and beat the air for me, Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all. Till that her blush tanght me my shame to

mine eyes;



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