Filling the chilly room with perfume light,- Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring? I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, A dove forlorn and lost, with sick, unpruned wing." Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache." "My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! Thus whispering, his warm, unnervèd arm By the dusk curtains :-'twas a midnight charm The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam; Tumultuous-and, in chords that tenderest be, Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone. Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, Those looks immortal, those complainings dear! Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and vermeil dyed? A famished pilgrim-saved by miracle. For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee." By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide; The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans; For if thou diest, my love, I know not where to go." These lovers fled into the storm. Beyond a mortal man impassioned far Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose; Into her dream he melted, as the rose 'Tis dark; quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet: That night the baron dreamt of many a woe, FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. ARE thee well! and if forever, Would that breast were bared before thee Where thy head so oft hath lain, Would that breast, by thee glanced over, Though the world for this commend thee- Founded on another's woe: Though my many faults defaced me, Than the one which once embraced me, Yet, O, 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 retaine th— Still must mine, though bleeding beat; These are words of deeper sorrow And when thou wouldst solace gather, Should her lineaments resemble Those thou nevermore mayst see, All my faults perchance thou knowest, Force their way without the will. Fare thee well!-thus disunited, a LORD BYRON. BLACK-EYED SUSAN. LL in the Downs the fleet was moored, Rocked with the billow to and fro, So the sweet lark, high poised in air, Shuts close his pinions to his breast "O Susan, Susan, lovely dear, My vows shall ever true remain; Let me kiss off that falling tear; We only part to meet again. Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee. "Believe not what the landmen say Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind: They'll tell thee, sailors when away, In every port a mistress find: Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, 'If to fair India's coast we sail, Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, Thy skin is ivory so white. Thus every beauteous object that I view Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. "Though battle call me from thy arms, Let not my pretty Susan mourn; Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, The sails their swelling bosom spread; They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head. Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land; “Adieu !” she cried; and waved her lily hand. JOHN GAY. THE BLOOM WAS ON THE ALDER AND THE TASSEL ON THE CORN. HEARD the bob-white whistle in the dewy breath of morn; The bloom was on the alder and the tassel on the corn. I stood with beating heart beside the babbling Mac-ochee, To see my love come down the glen to keep her tryst with me. I saw her pace, with quiet grace, the shaded path along, And pause to pluck a flower, or hear the thrush's song. Denied by her proud father as a suitor to be seen, She came to me, with loving trust, my gracious little queen. Above my station, heaven knows, that gentle maiden shone, For she was belle and wide beloved, and I a youth unknown. The rich and great about her thronged, and sought on bended knee For love this gracious princess gave, with all her heart, to me. So like a startled fawn before my longing eyes she stood, With all the freshness of a girl in flush of womanhood. I trembled as I put my arm about her form divine, And stammered, as in awkward speech, I begged her to be mine. Tis sweet to hear the pattering rain, that lulls a dimlit dream 'Tis sweet to hear the song of birds, and sweet the rippling stream; 'Tis sweet amid the mountain pines to hear the south winds sigh, More sweet than these and all beside was the loving, low reply. The little hand I held in mine held all I had of life, To mold its better destiny and soothe to sleep its strife. 'Tis said that angels watch o'er men, commissioned from above; "y angel walked with me on earth, and gave to me her love. Ah! dearest wife, my heart is stirred, my eyes are dim with tears I think upon the loving faith of all these bygone years, For now we stand upon this spot, as in that dewy morn, With the bloom upon the alder and the tassel on the corn. DON PIATT. LAMENT OF THE YOUNG HIGHLANDER SUMMONED FROM THE SIDE OF HIS BRIDE BY THE "FIERY CROSS" OF RODERICK DHU. 'HE heath this night must be my bed, Far, far from love and thee, Mary; I may not, dare not, fancy now A time will come with feeling fraught! Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. We met—and we parted forever! The night-bird sung, and the stars above Of friends long passed to the kingdom of love, We parted in silence-our cheeks were wet Some tale of that loved one keeping. But the odor and bloom of those bygone years Shall hang o'er its waters forever. JULIA CRAWFORD. LOVE AND TIME. 'WO pilgrims from the distant plain Has snowy beard and silver hair. The youth with many a merry trick But speaks no word by night or day. Fast fadeth with a certain doom; And thus before the sage, the boy Trips lightly o'er the blooming lands, And proudly bears a pretty toy— A crystal glass with diamond sands. A smile o'er any brow would pass To see him frolic in the sunTo see him shake the crystal glass, And make the sands more quickly run. And now they leap the streamlet o'er, A silver thread so white and thin, And now they reach the open door, And now they lightly enter in : "God save all here "-that kind wish flies Still sweeter from his lips so sweet; "God save you kindly," Norah cries, "Sit down, my child, and rest and ext." "Thanks, gentle Norah, fair and good, We'll rest awhile our weary feet; Beneath some ruined cloister's cope, While passing by your mother's doorIt was that dear, delicious hour When Owen here the nosegay brought, And found you in the woodbine bowerSince then, indeed, I've needed naught." A blush steals over Norah's face, A smile comes over Owen's brow, A tranquil joy illumes the place, As if the moon were shining now; The boy beholds the pleasing pain, The sweet confusion he has done, And shakes the crystal glass again, And makes the sands more quickly run. "Dear Norah, we are pilgrims, bound Upon an endless path sublime; I dwell with peasants, he with kings. Where'er I chance or wish to lead; We must to other regions pass; If you can see them move at all, Be sure your heart has colder grown. 'Tis coldness makes the glass grow dry, The icy hand, the freezing brow; But warm the heart and breathe the sigh, And then they'll pass you know not how." She took the glass where love's warm hands A bright impervious vapor cast, She looks, but cannot see the sands, Although she feels they're falling fast. But cold hours came, and then, alas! She saw them falling frozen through, Till love's warm light suffused the glass, And hid the loosening sands from view! DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. And the billow will embrace thee with a kiss as soft Its enchantment around him while lingering with as mine. No western odors wander On the black and moaning sea, And when thou art dead. Leander, My soul must follow thee! O, go not yet, my love, Thy voice is sweet and low; The deep salt wave breaks in above Those marble steps below. The turret stairs are wet That lead into the sea. O, go not, go not yet, Or I will follow thee. ALFRED TENNYSON. FAREWELL! BUT WHENEVER. AREWELL! but whenever you welcome the hour That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower, Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too, you! And still on that evening when pleasure fills up To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup, Too blest if it tell me that, mid the gay cheer, Let fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy; Which come, in the night-time of sorrow and care, And bring back the features which joy used to wear. Long, long be my heart with such memories filled! Like the vase in which roses have once been dis tilled You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. THOMAS MOORE. |