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THERE never yet was flower fair in vain, Ah, weary bird ! thou wilt not fly again :
Thy wings are clipped, thou canst no more de. The seasons toil that it may blow again,
The silver phantom of the perfect sphere,
Not the sweet moon of bridal only — we
One lustre, ever at the full, shall be : And so thou wilt in all the world's erelong:
One pure and rounded light, one planet whole, -For worldlings cannot, struggle as they may,
One life developed, one completed soul ! From man's great soulone great thought hideaway. For I in thee, and thou in me,
Unite our cloven halves of destiny.
I THOUGHT our love at full, but I did err; God knew his chosen time.
And from my boughs withheld the promised fruit,
Thy blessing is : I have thee day and night : Under her heart, so felt I instantly
Thou art become my blood, my life, my light : Deep in my soul another bond to thee
God's mercy thou, and therefore shalt endure. Thrill with that life we saw depart from her;
BAYARD TAYLOR. O mother of our angel child ! twice dear ! Death knits as well as parts, and still, I wis, Her tender radince shall infold us here,
THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS.
The blissful day we twa did meet ;
Though winter wild in tempest toiled,
Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet.
And crosses o'er the sultry line, -.
Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes,
Heaven gave me more ; it made thee mine. "It was our wedding-day
While day and night can bring delight, A month ago," dear heart, I hear you say.
Or nature aught of pleasure give, -If months, or years, or ages since have passed,
While joys above my mind can move, I know not : I have ceased to question Time.
For thee and thee alone I live I only know that once there pealed a chime
When that grim foe of life below Of joyous bells, and then I held you fast,
Comes in between to make us part, And all stood back, and none my right denied,
The iron hand that breaks our band, And forth we walked : the world was free and wide
It breaks my bliss, – it breaks my heart. Before us. Since that day
ROBERT BURNS I count my life: the Past is washed away.
THE POET'S BRIDAL-DAY SONG.
It was no dream, that vow :
O, my love 's like the steadfast sun,
Nor mirth, nor sweetest song that flows
Even while I muse, I see thee sit
Time, like the winged wind
When 't bends the flowers, Hath left no mark behind,
To count the hours !
On thee he leaves ;
Perhaps he weaves;
For joys scarce known;
All else is flown !
I mourn and sing !
Like sudden spring!
Like a pleasant rhyme,
To thee and time!
IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE, MY LOVE
Though I see smiling at thy feet Five sons and ae fair daughter sweet, And time, and care, and birthtime woes Have dimmed thine eye and touched thy rose, To thee, and thoughts of thee, belong Whate'er charms me in tale or song. When words descend like dews, unsought, With gleams of deep, enthusiast thought, And fancy in her heaven flies free, They come, my love, they come from thee. 0, when more thought we gave, of old, To silver, than some give to gold, "T was sweet to sit and ponder o'er How we should deck our humble bower; 'T was sweet to pull, in hope, with thee, The golden fruit of fortune's tree; And sweeter still to choose and twine A garland for that brow of thine, A song-wreath which may grace my Jean, While rivers flow, and woods grow green.
If thou wert by my side, my love,
How fast would evening fail
Listening the nightingale !
My babies at my knee, .
O'er Gunga's mimic sea !
When, on our deck reclined,
And woo the cooler wind.
My twilight steps I guide,
I miss thee from my side.
At times there come, as come there ought,
I spread my books, my pencil try,
The lingering noon to cheer, But miss thy kind, approving eye,
Thy meek, attentive ear.
But when at morn and eve the star
Beholds me on my knee, I feel, though thou art distant far,
Thy prayers ascend for me.
THE POET'S SONG TO HIS WIFE.
How many summers, love,
Have I been thine ? How many days, thou dove,
Hast thou been mine?
Then on! then on! where duty leads,
My course be onward still, O'er broad Hindostan's sultry meads,
O'er bleak Almorah's hill.
Nor how I doated on you ; 0, how proud I was
of you ! But did I love you more than now, when this
old ring was new ?
That course nor Delhi's kingly gates,
Nor mild Malwah detain ;
By yonder western main.
Across the dark blue sea;
As then shall meet in thee!
No-no! no fairer were you then than at this
hour to me; And, dear as life to me this day, how could you
dearer be ? As sweet your face might be that day as now it
is, 't is true ; But did I know your heart as well when this old
ring was new ?
JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.
When we were first acquent,
Your bonnie brow was brent ;
Your locks are like the snaw;
John Anderson, my jo.
We clamb the hill thegither ;
We've had wi' ane anither.
But hand in hand we'll go :
John Anderson, my jo.
O partner of my gladness, wife, what care, what
grief is there For me you would not bravely face, with me
you would not share ? O, what a weary want had every day, if wanting
you, Wanting the love that God made mine when
this old ring was new !
Years bring fresh links to bind us, wife, — young
voices that are here; Young faces round our fire that make their
mother's yet more dear; Young loving hearts your care each day makes
yet more like to you, More like the loving heart made mine when this
old ring was new.
THE WORN WEDDING-RING.
Your wedding-ring wears thin, dear wife ; ah, An
h. And blessed be God! all he has given are with summers not a few,
us yet ; around Since I put it on your finger first, have passed
Our table every precious life lent to us still is
found. o'er me and you; And, love, what changes we have seen, - what | Though cares we've known, with hopeful hearts
the worst we've struggled through ; cares and pleasures, too,
on this Blessed be his name for all his love since this Since you became my own dear wife, when this blessed old ring was new !
old ring was new!
0, blessings on that happy day, the happiest of The past is dear, its sweetness still our memo
ries treasure yet; my life, When, thanks to God, your low, sweet · Yes" | The griefs we've borne, together borne, we would
not now forget. made you my loving wife ! Your heart will say the same, I know; that|
Whatever, wife, the future brings, heart unto day's as dear to you, —
heart still true,
| We 'll share as we have shared all else since this That day that made me yours, dear wife, when
old ring was new. this old ring was new.
How well do I remember now your young sweet And if God spare us 'mongst our sons and daughface'that day !
ters to grow old, How fair you were, how dear you were, my We know his goodness will not let your heart tongue could hardly say;
or mine grow cold.
Your aged eyes will see' in mine all they've still |
shown to you, And mine in yours all they have seen since this
old ring was new.
Mild is Maire bhan astór,
WILLIAM COX BENNETT.
And 0, when death shall come at last to bid me
to my rest, May I die looking in those eyes, and resting on
ADAM TO EVE. that breast; 0, may my parting gaze be blessed with the dear O TAIREST of creation, last and best sight of you,
Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Of those fond eyes, — fond as they were when Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, this old ring was new!
Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet !
The strict forbiddance, how to violate
The sacred fruit forbidden! Some cursed fraud
Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown, "FAIR MARY, MY TREASURE.”
| And me with thee hath ruined, for with thee
Certain my resolution is to die.
How can I live without thee, how forego
| Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined, Short would be the summer-day,
To live again in these wild woods forlorn ?
Should God create another Eve, and I
Another rib afford, yet loss of thee With the light her heart would pour, Would never from my heart ; no, no, I feel With her kisses and her song,
| The link of nature draw me : flesh of flesh, And her loving mait go leor.
Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state
Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe.
Certain to undergo like doom ; if death
The bond of nature draw me to my own,
My own in thee, for what thou art is mine;
Our state cannot be severed, we are one,
One flesh ; to lose thee were to lose myself.
And he knew she loved me too,
PORTIA AND BRUTUS.
FROM “ JULIUS CÆSAR."
PORTIA. Brutus, my lord !
Brutus. Portin, what mean you ? Wherefore From my Maire bhan astór.
rise you now?.
| It is not for your health thus to commit III.
Your weak conditiou to the raw-cold morning. There are lands where manly toil
Por. Nor for yours neither. You have un. Surely reaps the crop it sows,
Stole from my bed : And yesternight, at supper,
From our hearth with mait go leor, | And when I asked you what the matter was,
You stared upon me with ungentle looks :
| 1 urged you further; then you scratched your head,