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DAY, IN MELTING PURPLE DYING.

Rest, and be glad of the gods; but I,

How shall I praise them, or how take rest! There is not room under all the sky

For me that know not of worst or best, Dream or desire of the days before, Sweet things or bitterness, any more. Love will not come to me now though I die,

As love came close to you, breast to breast.

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I shall never be friends again with roses ;
I shall loathe sweet tunes, where a note grown

strong
Relents and recoils, and climbs and closes,

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.

Day, in melting purple dying ;
Blossoms, all around me sighing;
Fragrance, from the lilies straying;
Zephyr, with my ringlets playing;

Ye but waken my distress;

I am sick of loneliness ! Thou, to whom I love to hearken, Come, ere night around me darken; Though thy softness but deceive me, Say thou ’rt true, and I'll believe thee;

Veil, if ill, thy soul's intent,

Let me think it innocent !
Save thy toiling, spare thy treasure ;
All I ask is friendship’s pleasure ;
Let the shining ore lie darkling, —
Bring no gem in lustre sparkling;

Gifts and gold are naught to me,

I would only look on thee!
Tell to thee the high-wrought feeling,
Ecstasy but in revealing ;
Paint to thee the deep sensation,
Rapture in participation ;

Yet but torture, if comprest

In a lone, unfriended breast.
Absent still! Ah! come and bless me!
Let these eyes again caress thee.
Once in caution, I could fly thee;
Now, I nothing could deny thee.

In a look if death there be,
Come, and I will gaze on thee !

MARIA BROOKS

The pulse of war and passion of wonder,
The heavens that murmur, the sounds that

shine, The stars that sing and the loves that thunder,

The music burning at heart like wine,
An armed archangel whose hands raise up
All senses mixed in the spirit's cup,
Till flesh and spirit are molten in sunder,

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.
Fairer than earth is the sea, and sleep
Than overwatching of eyes that weep,
Now time has done with his one sweet word,

The wine and leaven of lovely life.

BY THE ALMA RIVER.

I shall go my ways, tread out my measure,

Fill the days of my daily breath
With fugitive things not good to treasure,

Do as the world doth, say as it saith ;
But if we had loved each other – O sweet,
Had you felt, lying under the palms of your feet,
The heart of my heart, beating harder with pleasure

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?

WILLIE, fold your little hands;

Let it drop, – that “soldier" toy ; Look where father's picture stands,

Father, that here kissed his boy
Not a month since, — father kind,
Who this night may (never mind
Mother's sob, my Willie dear)
Cry out loud that He may hear
Who is God of battles, — cry,
“God keep father safe this day

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 !

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.

me

Willie, all to you and me

How shall I watch for thee, when fears grow Is that spot, whate'er it be,

stronger, Where he stands — no other word

As night grows dark and darker on the hill ! Stands- God sure the child's prayers heard — How shall I weer, 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

ANONYMOUS.

Gazeth through tears that makeitssplendordull; 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
Reason clear in thought and brain

Haste, haste thee home to thy mountain dwelling, Till the morning comes again ;

Haste, as a bird unto its peaceful nest ! Till the third dread morning tell

Haste, as a skiff, through tempests wide and Who they were that fought and — fell

swelling,

Flies to its haven of securest rest !
By the Alma River.
Come, we 'll lay us down, my child ;

Poor the bed is, - poor and hard ;
But thy father, far exiled,

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,
Fighting - fighting at his side-

Weary with longing ? Shall I flee away
By the Alma River.

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 In some eyes - child, say that

To bring the hour that brings thee back moro prayer

near ? Once again, - a different one, Say, “O 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 THE WIFE TO 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.

All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains; 0, let its memory, like a chain about thee,

For thy dear sake I will walk patiently Gently compel and hasten thy return !

Through these long hours, nor call their min. Linger not long. Though crowds should woo thy utes pains. staying,

I will this dreary blank of absence make Bethink thee, can the mirth of thy friends,

A noble task-time ; and will therein strive though dear,

To follow excellence, and to o'ertake Compensate for the grief thy long delaying

More good than I have won since yet I live. Costs the fond heart that sighs to have thee here?

So may this doomed time build up in me Linger not long. How shall I watch thy coming,

A thousand graces, which shall thus be thine ; As evening shadows stretch o'er moor and dell; So may my love and longing hallowed be, When the wild bee hath ceased her busy humming,

And thy dear thought an influence divine. And silence hangs on all things like a spell !

DINAH MARIA MULOCK.

FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE

DISAPPOINTMENT AND ESTRANGEMENT.

THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE.

FROM

MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.

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!

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 misgratiéd 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 momentany as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ;
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
That, in a spleen, unfolds 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.

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

But she lookit in my face till my heart was like - never to return.

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,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ;

When, sitting sae mournfully at the door, 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 !"
O 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

nane :

me !

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

If not to win, to feel more worthy, thee !
O, 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

The thoughts that burst their channels into song, 0, 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 gossipis 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, Lerels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook And loved you better than you knew.

ROBERT BURNS.

LORD EDWARD BULWER LYTTON.

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LINDA TO HAFED.

FROM "THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS."

You told me of your toilsome past;
The tardy honors won at last,
The trials borne, 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.

“How sweetly," said the trembling maid,
Of her own gentle voice afraid,
So long had they in silence stood,
Looking upon that moonlight flood,
“How sweetly does the moonbeam 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 fears, 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! 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 divino

Of all I ever dreamt or knew,
To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine,

O misery! must I lose that too?

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.

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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