But I can milk and marry, Fill pail, I can milk and marry. Wheugh, wheugh! he has whistled through For he 's whistled through the water, The way to the town, And it's not "The Farmer's Daughter!" Churr, churr! goes the cockchafer, The sun sets over the water, Churr, churr! goes the cockchafer, I'm too late for my Harry! And, O, if he goes a-soldiering, I could not see a leaf on the tree, And now I could count them, one, two, three, Leaf from leaf like lips apart, And the hillside beats with my beating heart, And the May bough touched me and made me start, And the wind breathes warm like a lover. Pull, pull and the pail is full, And milking's done and over. Who would not sit here under the tree? What a fair fair thing's a green field to see! The cows they may low, the bells they may I have set my pail on the daisies! Wheugh, wheugh! he has whistled through, Low in the grass and high on the bough, O world, have you ever a lover? It seems so light, --can the sun be set? I could cry to have hurt the daisies ! Harry is near, Harry is near, My heart's as sick as if he were here, The air's astir with your praises. He has scaled the rock by the pixy's stone, He's among the kingcups, he picks me one, I love the grass that I tread upon When I go to my Harry! - He has jumped the brook, he has climbed the knowe, There's never a faster foot I know, But still he seems to tarry. O Harry! O Harry! my love, my pride, Come spring, come winter, come sun, come AUF WIEDERSEHEN! SUMMER. THE little gate was reached at last, Lingered reluctant, and again She said, "Auf wiedersehen!” The lamp's clear gleam flits up the stair; "T is thirteen years: once more I press I hear the rustle of her dress, Sweet piece of bashful maiden art! The English words had seemed too fain, But these they drew us heart to heart, Yet held us tenderly apart; "My ear-rings! my ear-rings! they were pearls in silver set, That when my Moor was far away, I ne'er should him forget, That I ne'er to other tongue should list, nor smile on other's tale, But remember he my lips had kissed, pure as those ear-rings pale. When he comes back, and hears that I have dropped them in the well, O, what will Muça think of me, Icannot, cannot tell. "My ear-rings! my ear-rings he'll say they should have been, Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and glittering sheen, Ofjasperand of onyx, and of diamond shining clear. Changing to the changing light, with radiance insincere ; That changeful mind unchanging gems are not He'll think when I was sporting so beside this | Alas! if they but knew thee, as mine it is to know, marble well, They well might see another mark to which thine My pearls fell in, arrows go; not tell. and what to say, alas ! I can "He'll say I am a woman, and we are all the same; He'll say I loved when he was here to whisper of his flame But when he went to Tunis my virgin troth had broken, And thought no more of Muça, and cared not for his token. But thou giv'st little heed, for I speak to one who knows That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes. "It wearies me, mine enemy, that I must weep and bear What fills thy heart with triumph, and fills my own with care. My ear-rings! my ear-rings ! O, luckless, luckless Thou art leagued with those that hate me, and ah! well! For what to say to Muça, alas! I cannot tell. “I'll tell the truth to Muça, and I hope he will believe, That I have thought of him at morning, and thought of him at eve; That musing on my lover, when down the sun was gone, His ear-rings in my hand I held, by the fountain all alone; And that my mind was o'er the sea, when from my hand they fell, And that deep his love lies in my heart, as they lie in the well." JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART. thou know'st I feel That cruel words as surely kill as sharpest blades of steel. 'T was the doubt that thou wert false that wrung my heart with pain; But, now I know thy perfidy, I shall be well again. I would proclaim thee as thou art - but every maiden knows That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes." Thus Fatima complained to the valiant Raduan, Where underneath the myrtles Alhambra's fountains ran: The Moor was inly moved, and blameless as he was, He took her white hand in his own, and pleaded thus his cause: "O lady, dry those star-like eyes, - their dimness does me wrong; If my heart be made of flint, at least 't will keep thy image long; Thou hast uttered cruel words, less for those, - but I grieve the Since she who chides her lover forgives him ere he goes." WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. SOMEBODY. SOMEBODY's courting somebody, Somewhere or other to-night; Somebody's whispering to somebody, Somebody's listening to somebody, Under this clear moonlight. Near the bright river's flow, She sits with somebody. Sound sweet to somebody. Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring; Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. The maid shakes her head, on her lip lays her fingers, Steals up from her seat, -longs to go, and yet lingers; A frightened glance turns to her drowsy grandmother, Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel with the other. Lazily, easily, swings now the wheel round; Slowly and lowly is heard now the reel's sound; Noiseless and light to the lattice above her The maid steps, then leaps to the arms of her lover. A SPINSTER'S STINT. SIX skeins and three, six skeins and three ! Stop, busy wheel! stop, noisy wheel! I must have wheat and pinks, to stick OTHELLO'S DEFENCE. It was my hint to speak, - such was the process; OTHELLO. Most potent, grave, and reverend The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads signiors, My very noble and approved good masters, Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear, But still the house affairs would draw her thence; Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my Devour up my discourse. Which I observing, speech, And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace; I will a round unvarnished tale deliver Took once a pliant hour; and found good means Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what 'T was pitiful, 't was wondrous pitiful : charms, What conjuration, and what mighty magic, BRABANTIO. A maiden never bold; Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion Отн. I'll present How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, Her father loved me; oft invited me ; I ran it through, even from my boyish days, Of being taken by the insolent foe, She wished she had not heard it, yet she wished That Heaven had made her such a man: she thanked me; And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, Enter DESDEMONA, IAGO, and Attendants. |