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I have lived, I shall say, so much since

then, Given up myself so many times, Gained me the gains of various men, Ransacked the ages, spoiled the

climes; Yet cne thing, one, in my soul's full

scope, Either I missed or itself missed me And I want and find you, Evelyn

Hope !
What is the issue? let us see !

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I loved you, Evelyn, all the while;
My heart seemed full as it could

hold There was space and to spare for the

frank young smile, And the red young mouth, and the

hair's young gold. So hush, - I will give you this leaf to

keep, See, I shut it inside the sweet cold

hand. Chere, that is our secret! go to sleep; You will wake, and remember, and


We shall march prospering

not through his presence; Songs may inspirit us — not from his

lyre; Deeds will be done — while he boasts

his quiescence, Still bidding crouch whom the rest

bade aspire. Blot out his name, then record one

lost soul more, One task more declined, one more

footpath untrod, One more triumph for devils, and sor

row for angels, One wrong more to man, one more

insult to God! Life's night begins; let him never come

back to us! There would be doubt, hesitation and

pain, Forced praise on our part — the glim

mer of twilight, Never glad confident morning again! Best fight on well, for we taught him

strike gallantly, Aim at our heart ere we pierce

through his own; Then let him receive the new knowl.

edge and wait us, Pardon’d in Heaven, the first by the


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THE year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in his heaven -
All's right with the world.

Yet I will but say what mere friends say, SONG FROM " PARACELSUS."

Or only a thought stronger; HEAP cassia, sandal-buds, and stripes I will hold your hand but as long as all Of labdanum, and aloe-balls,

may, Smeared with dull nard an Indian Or so very little longer!

wipes Fr out her hair : such balsam falls

Down seaside mountain pedestals, From tree-tops where tired winds are

ONE WAY OF LOVE, fain, Spent with the vast and howling main, ALL June I bound the rose in sheaves. To treasure half their island gain. Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves

And strew them where Pauline maj And strew faint sweetness from some

pass. old

She will not turn aside? Alas! Egyptian's fine worm-eaten shroud

Let them lie. Suppose they die? Which breaks to dust when once un

The chance was they might take her rolled;

eye. Or shredded perfume, like a cloud From closet long to quiet vowed,

How many a month I strove to suit With mothed and dropping arras hung, These stubborn fingers to the lute ! Mouldering her lute and books among, To-day I venture all I know. As when a queen, long dead, was young. She will not hear my music? So!

Break the string; fold music's wing:

Suppose Pauline had bade me sing! THE LOST MISTRESS.

My whole life long I learned to love. ALL's over, then: does truth sound bit

This hour my utmost art I prove ter

And speak my passion - heaven or As one at first believes ?

hell? Hark, 'tis the sparrows' good-night She will not give me heaven? Tis twitter

well! About your cottage eaves !

Lose who may - I still can say,
And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly, Those who win heaven, blest are they!

I noticed that to-day;
One day more bursts them open fully:
You know the red turns gray.

To-morrow we meet the same then,

NEVER any more, May I take your hand in mine?

While I live, Mere friends are we, — well, friends

Need I hope to see his fack the merest

As before. Keep much that I resign.

Once his love grown chill,

Mine may strive: Each glance of the eye so bright and Bitterly we re-embrace, black,

Single still. Though I keep with heart's endeavor,

Was it something said, Your voice, when you wish the snow

Something done, drops back,

Vexed him? was it touch of hand, Though it stay in my soul forever,

Turn of head?

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“Speak, I love thee best!

He exclaimed: “Let thy love my own foretell!”

I confessed :
Clasp my heart on thine

Now unblamed,
Since upon thy soul as well

Hangeth mine!Was it wrong to own,

Being truth? Why should

all the giving prove

His alone?
I had wealth and ease,

Beauty, youth:
Since my lover gave me love,

I gave these.

MY STAR. All that I know

Of a certain star Is, it can throw

(Like the angled spar) Now a dart of red,

Now a dart of blue; Till my friends have said

They would fain see, too, My star that dartles the red and the

blue ! Then it stops like a bird; like a flower,

hangs furled : They must solace themselves with

the Saturn above it. What matter to me if their star is a

world? Mine has opened its soul to me;

therefore I love it.

That was all I meant,

- To be just, And the passion I had raised,

To content.
Since he chose to change

Gold for dust,
If I gave him what he praised

Was it strange?

Would he loved me yet,

On and on, While I found some way undreamed

A FACE. IF one could have that little head of

hers Painted upon a background of pale


Such as the Tuscan's early art prefers ! No shade encroaching on the matchless

mould Of those two lips, which should be

opening soft In the pure profile; not as when she

laughs, For that spoils all: but rather as if

aloft Yon hyacinth, she loves so, leaned its

staff's Burden of honey-colored buds, to

kiss And capture 'twixt the lips apart for

this. Then her lithe neck, three fingers

might surround. How it should waver, on the pale gold


Up to the fruit-shaped, perfect chin it

lifts ! I know, Correggio loves to mass, in

rifts Of heaven, his angel faces, orb on

orb Breaking its outline, burning shades

absorb : But these are only massed there, I

should think, Waiting to see some wonder-momently Grow out, stand full, fade slow against

the sky (That's the pale ground you'd see this

sweet face by), All heaven, meanwhile, condensed into

one eye Which fears to lose the wonder, should

it wink.



[BORN in Perth, Scotland, in 1812; educated in London, Brussels, and Aix la Chapelle; was employed on the staff of the London Morning Chronicle, 1834-43. Editor of the Glasgow Argus, 1844-47;. was also long connected with the London Illust. News, and a war correspondent of the London Times in the United States, 1862–65. Is best known by his songs, some of which were set to music composed by himself.]


FAREWELL, oh day misspent;
Thy fleeting hours were lent
In vain to my endeavor.

In shade and sun

Thy race is run
For ever! oh, for ever!
The leaf drops from the tree,

The sand falls in the glass,
And to the dread Eternity

The dying minutes pass.
It was not till thine end
I knew thou wert my friend;
But now, thy worth recalling,

My grief is strong
I did thee wrong,

And scorned thy treasures falling. But sorrow comes too late;

Another day is born;
Pass, minutes, pass; may better fate

Attend to-morrow morn.
Oh, birth! oh, death of Time !
Oh, mystery sublime !
Ever the rippling ocean

Brings forth the wave

To smile or rave,
And die of its own motion,
A little wave to strike

The sad responsive shore,
And be succeeded by its like

Ever and evermore,

Oh, change from same to same! Oh, quenched, yet burning flame ! Oh, new birth, born of dying!

Oh, transient ray!

Oh, speck of day! Approaching and yet flying; – Pass to Eternity.

Thou day, that came in vain ! A new wave surges on the sea

The world grows young again.

Do not all Earth and Sea Repeat Eternally

Th' unvarying strain? The old and sad lament With humán voices blent,

In vain, in vain !

Through the green forest arch The wild winds in their march

Sigh and complain; The torrent on the hill Moans to the midnight chill,

In vain, in vain !

Come in, To-day, come in!
I have confessed my sin
To thee, young promise-bearer!

New Lord of Earth!

I hail thy birth
The crown awaits the wearer.
Child of the ages past!

Sire of a mightier line!
On the me deeps our lot is cast !

The world is thine and mine!

The hoarse monotonous waves
Attune from all their caves,

Through storm and rain,
The melancholy cry,
To listening Earth and sky,

In vain, in vain !

Love mourns its early dead;
Hope its illusions fled,

Or rudely slain;
And Wealth and Power prolong
The same, th' eternal song,

In vain, in vain !

Toil, Sisyphus, toil on!
Thou'rt many, though but one!

Toil heart and brain !
One — but the type of all
Rolling the dreadful ball,

In vain! in vain !

EVER and evermore
Upon the steep life-shore

Of Death's dark main,
Bare to the bitter skies,
His mournful task he plies

In vain, in vain ! Sometimes he looks to Heaven And asks to be forgiven

The grievous pain.
The stars look sadly down,
The cold sun seems to frown-

In vain, in vain !
But kindly mother Earth,
Remembering his birth,

Doth not disdain
To sympathize with him,
So worn of heart and limb;

In vain, in vain!
Is not his fate her own?
The rolling toilsome stone

Rolled back again?
Are not her children's woes
The very same he knows? -

In vain, in vain !

I LOVE MY LOVE. What is the meaning of the song

That rings so clear and loud, Thou nightingale amid the copse –

Thou lark above the cloud? What says thy song, thou joyous thrush,

Up in the walnut-tree? “ I love my Love, because I know

My Love loves me.”
What is the meaning of thy thought,

O maiden fair and young?
There is such pleasure in thine eyes,

Such music on thy tongue;
There is such glory on thy face-

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