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Owning her weakness,
Her evil behavior, And leaving, with meekness,
Her sins to her Saviour.
Wherever he may sail ;
The sun will never fail,
The green earth and the sea; So love is with the lover's heart,
Wherever he may be. Wherever he may be, the stars
Must daily lose their light, The moon will veil her in the shade,
The sun will set at night; The sun may set, but constant love
Will shine when he's away, So that dull night is never night,
And day is brighter day.
I LOVE THEE! I LOVE THEE! I LOVE thee! I love thee!
'Tis all that I can say; It is my vision in the night,
My dreaming in the day; The very echo of my heart,
The blessing when I pray,
Is all that I can say.
Is ever on my tongue;
That chorus still is sung. It is the verdict of my eyes
Amidst the gay and young; I love thee! I love thee !
A thousand maids among. I love thee! I love thee!
Thy bright and hazel glance, The mellow lute upon those lips
Whose tender tones entrance. But most, dear heart of hearts, thy proofs
, That still these words enhance; I love thee! I love thee!
Whatever be thy chance.
RUTH: She stood breast high amid the corn, Clasped by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won. On her cheek an autumn flush Deeply ripened -- such a blush In the midst of brown was born Like red poppies grown with corn. Round her eyes her tresses fell, Which were blackest none could tell, But long lashes veiled a light That had else been all too bright. And her hat, with shady brim, Made her tressy forehead dim: Thus she stood amid the stooks, Praising God with sweetest looks :Sure, I said, Heav'n did not mean Where I reap thou shouldst but glean, Lay thy sheaf adown and come Share my harvest and my home.
O SAW you not fair Ines?
She's gone into the West,
And rob the world of rest.
The smiles that we love best, With morning blushes on her cheek,
And pearls upon her breast. Oh, turn again, fair ines!
Before the fall of night, For fear the moon should shine alone,
And stars unrivalled bright. And blessed will the lover be,
That walks beneath their light, And breathes the love against thy cheek
I dare not even write!
Would I had been, fair Ines,
That gallant cavalier,
Who rode so gaily by thy side
Alas, Alas, fair Ines ! And whispered thee so near!
She went away with song, Were there no loving dames at home, With music waiting on her steps, Or no true lovers here,
And shoutings of the throng.
But only music's wrong,
To her you've loved so long.
Farewell, farewell, fair Ines, Descend along the shore,
That vessel never bore With a band of noble gentlemen, So fair a lady on its decks, And banners waved before,
Nor danced so light before. And gentle youths and maidens gay- Alas for pleasure on the sea, And snowy plumes they wore;
And sorrow on the shore; It would have been a beauteous dream, | The smile that blest one lover's heart, .-If it had been no more!
Has broken many more!
1799–1827 [BORN in Renfrewshire, Scotland, 1799; educated for the church, but produced, before he had attained his twenty-sixth year, a very remarkable poem, entitled The Course of Time, which attracted the most unqualified admiration in the religious world. The young poet's constitution was frail, and was undermined by his intense application. He was preparing to start for Italy, but died at Southampton in 1827.]
It scarce deserved his verse.
ture's self [The Course of Time.]
He seemed an old acquaintance, free to HE touched his harp, and nations
jest heard, entranced.
At will with all her glorious majesty. As some vast river of unfailing source, He laid his hand upon “the Ocean's Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers mane," flowed,
And played familiar with his hoary And oped new fountains in the human
locks : heart.
Stood on the Alps, stood on the Apen. Where Fancy halted, weary in her flight,
nines, In other men, his, fresh as morning, And with the thunder talked as friend rose,
to friend; And soared untrodden heights, and And sove his garland of the lightning's seemed at home,
wing, Where angels bashful looked. Others, In sportive twist, the lightning's fiery though great,
wing, Beneath their argument seemed strug. Which, as the footsteps of the dreadful gling whiles;
God, He from above descending, stooped to Marching upon the storm in vengeance, touch
seemed; The loftiest thought; and proudly Then turned, and with the grasshopper, stooped as though
His evening song beneath his feet, con- But back into his soul retired, alone, versed.
Dark, sullen, proud, gazing contempSuns, moons, and stars, and clouds, his
tuously sisters were;
On hearts and passions prostrate at his Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and
feet. winds, and storms;
So Ocean, from the plains his wares His brothers, younger brothers, whom
had late he scarce
To desolation swept, retired in pride, As equals deemed. All passions of all Exulting in the glory of his might, men,
And seemed to mock the ruin he had The wild and tame, the gentle and se
As some fierce comet of tremendous All thoughts, all maxims, sacred and size, profane;
To which the stars did reverence as it All creeds, all seasons, Time, Eternity;
passed, All that was hated, and all that was So he, through learning and through dear;
fancy, took All that was hoped, all that was feared, His flights sublime, and on the loftiest by man,
top He tossed about, as tempest-withered Of Fame's dread mountain sat; not leaves;
soiled and worn, Then, smiling, looked upon the wreck As if he from the earth had labored he made.
up; With terror now he froze the cowering But, as some bird of heavenly plumage blood,
fair, Ånd now dissolved the heart in tender- He looked, which down from higher ness;
regions came, Yet would not tremble, would not weep And perched it there, to see what lay himself;
1800–1859. (THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY was born at Rothley Temple, Leicestershire, Oct. as, 1800, and died at Holly Lodge, Campden Hill, Dec. 28, 1859. His Lays of Ancient Rome were pube 'ished in 1843; other ballads and poems were written from time to time, his earliest published piece, an Epitaph on Henry Martyn, being dated 1812.7
HENRY OF NAVARRE.
Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny
vines, oh pleasant land of France ! Now glory to the Lord of hosts, from And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, whom all glories are !
proud city of the waters, And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Again let rapture light the eyes of all Henry of Navarre !
thy mourning daughters. Now let there be the merry sound of As thou wert constant in our ills, be music and of dance,
joyous in our joy,
For cold, and stiff, and still are they Of fife, and steed, and trump and drum, who wrought thy walls annoy.
and roaring culverin! Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath The fiery Duke is pricking fast across turned the chance of war,
Saint André's plain, Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and King With all the hireling chivalry of GuelHenry of Navarre.
ders and Almayne.
Now by the lips of those ye love, fair Oh! how our hearts were beating, when
gentlemen of France, at the dawn of day
Charge for the Golden Lilies nowWe saw the army of the League drawn upon them with the lance! out in long array;
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a With all its priest-led citizens, and all
thousand spears in rest, its rebel peers,
A thousand knights are pressing close
behind the snow-white crest; And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish
And in they burst, and on they rushed,
spears. There rode the brood of false Lorraine,
while, like a guiding star, the curses of our land!
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a
helmet of Navarre. truncheon in his hand! And as we looked on them, we thought Now, God be praised, the day is ours! of Seine's empurpled flood,
Mayenne hath turned his rein. And good Coligni's hoary hair all dab- D’Aumale hath cried for quarter. The bled with his blood;
Flemish Count is slain. And we cried unto the living God, who
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds rules the fate of war,
before a Biscay gale; To fight for his own holy name, and
The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, Henry of Navarre.
and flags, and cloven mail; And then, we thought on vengeance,
and all along our van, The King is come to marshal us, in all
“Remember St. Bartholomew," was his armor drest, And he has bound a snow-white plume
passed from man to man;
But out spake gentle Henry, “No upon his gallant crest.
Frenchman is my foe: He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye;
Down, down with every foreigner, but
let your brethren go." He looked upon the traitors, and his
Oh! was ihere ever such a knight, in glance was stern and high.
friendship or in war, Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing,
As our Sovereign Lord King Henry, the
soldier of Navarre! Down all our line, a deafening shout,
“God save our Lord the King!” Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall
of Lucerne! full well he may,
Weep, weep, and rend your hair for For never saw I promise yet of such a
those who never shall return. bloody fray,
Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy MexiPress where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war,
That Antwerp monks may sing a mass And be your oriflamme to-day the hel.
for thy poor spearmen's souls ! met of Navarre."
Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look
that your arms be bright! Hurrah! the foes are moving. Hark Ho! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep to the mingled din
watch and ward to-night!
For our God hath crushed the tyrant, For God! for the Cause! for the Church! our God hath raised the slave,
for the Laws! And mocked the counsel of the wise, For Charles, King of England, and Ro and the valor of the brave.
pert of the Rhine! Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are;
The furious German comes, with his And glory to our Sovereign Lord, King
trumpets and his drums, Henry of Navarre!
His bravoes of Alsatia and pages of
your pikes! Close your ranks! NASEBY.
For Rupert never comes, but to conquer,
or to fall. O! WHEREFORE come ye forth in triumph from the North,
They are here - they rush on — we are With your hands and your feet, and your
broken — we are gone raiment all red?
Our left is borne before them like stubAnd wherefore do your rou: send forth ble on the blast. a joyous shout?
O Lord, put forth thy might! O Lord, And whence are the grapes of the wine
defend the right! press that ye tread?
Stand back to back, in God's name! and
fight it to the last ! 0! evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit,
Stout Skippen hath a wound - the cenAnd crimson was the juice of the vintage tre hath given ground. that we trod;
But hark ! what means this trampling For we trampled on the throng of the of horsenen in the rear? haughty and the strong,
What banner do I see, boys? 'Tis he! Who sate in the high places and slew thank God! 'tis he, boys! the saints of God.
Bear up another minute! Brave Oliver
is here! It was about the noon of a glorious day of June,
Their heads are stooping low, their pikes That we saw their banners dance and
all in a row: their cuirasses shine,
Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a And the Man of Blood was there, with deluge on the dykes, his long essenced hair,
Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks And Astley, and Sir Marmaduke, and
of the Accurst, Rupert of the Rhine.
And at a shock have scatter'd the forest
of his pikes. Like a servant of the Lord, with his Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe Bible and his sword,
nook to hide The General rode along us to form us Their coward heads, predestined to not for the fight;
on Temple Bar. When a murmuring sound broke out, And he - he turns! he flies ! shame to and swell'd into a shout
those cruel eyes . Among the godless horsemen upon the That bore to look on torture, and dare tyrant's right.
not look on war. And hark! like the roar of the billow Ho, comrades ! scour the plain, and ere on the shore,
ye strip the slain, The cry of battle rises along their charg- | First give another stab to make the ing line :