To the rice-swamp dank and lone, -
Toiling through the weary day,
And at night the spoiler's prey.
O that they had earlier died,
Sleeping calmly, side by side,
Where the tyrant's power is o'er,
And the fetter galls no more!
Gone, gone,
sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters,
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
By the holy love He beareth,
By the bruised reed He spareth, -
O, may He, to whom alone
All their cruel wrongs are known,
Still their hope and refuge prove,
With a more than mother's love.
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters, -
Woe is me, my stolen daughters !

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met -or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest !
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest !
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae fareweel, alas! forever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee;
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.

ROBERT BURNS.

O MY LUVE'S LIKE A RED, RED ROSE.

O MY Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June :
O my Luve's like the melodie

That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I :

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a' the seas gang dry:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

ROBERT BURNS.

THE KISS, DEAR MAID.

THE kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left
Shall never part from mine,

Till happier hours restore the gift
Untainted back to thine.

Thy parting glance, which fondly beams,

An equal love may see:

The tear that from thine eyelid streams Can weep no change in me.

I ask no pledge to make me blest
In gazing when alone;
Nor one memorial for a breast
Whose thoughts are all thine own.

Nor need I write to tell the tale
My pen were doubly weak:
O, what can idle words avail,
Unless the heart could speak?

But give the cock a blow
Who did begin our woe!"
ANONYMOUS (Chinese). Translation
of WILLIAM R. ALGER.

THE PARTING OF ROMEO AND JULIET.

JULIET. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:

It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

ROMEO. It was the lark, the herald of the

morn,

No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east : Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.

I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
JULIET. Yon light is not daylight, I know
it, I:

It is some meteor, that the sun exhales,
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua :
Therefore stay yet, - thou need'st not be gone.
ROMEO. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to
death;

I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I'll say, yon gray is not the morning's eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads :
I have more care to stay than will to go;-
Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.
How is 't, my soul? let's talk, it is not day.
JULIET. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away!
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,