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SIENNA.

II.

IV.

PARTING LOVERS.

IX.
Our Italy invokes the youth .

To die if need be. Still there's room,
Though earth is strained with dead, in truth.

Since twice the lilies were in bloom
I LOVE thee, love thee, Giulio !

They have not grudged a tomb.
Some call me cold, and some demure,
And if thou hast ever guessed that so

I love thee ... well ; – the proof was poor, And many a plighted maid and wife
And no one could be sure.

And mother, who can say since then
“My country," cannot say through life

“My son,” “my spouse," “my flower of men,' Before thy song (with shifted rhymes

And not weep dumb again.
To suit my name) did I undo
The persian? If it moved sometimes,

XI.
Thou hast not seen a hand push through Heroic males the country bears,
A flower or two.

But daughters give up more than sons.
III.

Flags wave, drums beat, and unawares
My mother listening to my sleep

You flash your souls out with the guns, Heard nothing but a sigh at night,

And take your heaven at once !
The short sigh rippling on the deep, —

XII.
When hearts run out of breath and sight
Of men, to God's clear light.

But we, — we empty heart and home

Of life's life, love! we bear to think

You 're gone, ... to feel you may not come,... When others named thee, ... thought thy brows|

To hear the door-latch stir and clink Were straight, thy smile was tender, ..." Here

Yet no more you,... nor sink. He comes between the vineyard-rows !"

XIII. I said not “Ay," — nor waited, Dear,

Dear God ! when Italy is one
To feel thee step too near.

And perfected from bound to bound, ...
Suppose (for my share) earth 's undone

By one grave in 't ! as one small wound
I left such things to bolder girls,

May kill a man, 't is found !
Olivia or Clotilda. Nay,
When that Clotilda through her curls

Held both thine eyes in hers one day, What then? If love's delight must end,
I marvelled, let me say.

At least we 'll clear its truth from flaws.

I love thee, love thee, sweetest friend !
VI.

Now take my sweetest without pause,
I could not try the woman's trick :

To help the nation's cause.
Between us straightway fell the blush
Which kept me separate, blind, and sick.
A wind came with thee in a flush,

And thus of noble Italy
As blown through Horeb's bush.

We'll both be worthy. Let her show
The future low we made her free,

· Not sparing life, nor Giulio, But now that Italy invokes

Nor this ... this heart-break. Go!

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
Her young men to go forth and chase
The foe or perish, - nothing chokes

My voice, or drives me from the place :
I look thee in the face.

HERO TO LEANDER.

XIV.

xv.

VII.

VIII.

I love thee ! it is understood,

Confest : I do not shrink or start :
No blushes : all my body's blood

Has gone to greaten this poor heart,
That, loving, we may part.

0, Go not yet, my love,

The night is dark and vast;
The white moon is hid in her heaven above,

And the waves climb high and fast.
O, kiss me, kiss me, once again,

Lest thy kiss should be the last.

it, I:

O kiss me ere we part;

But give the cock a blow
Grow closer to my heart.

Who did begin our woe!”
My heart is warmer surely than the bosom of the

ANONYMOUS (Chinese). Translation

of WILLIAM R. ALGER.
main.
O joy ! O bliss of blisses !

My heart of hearts art thou.
Come, bathe me with thy kisses,

THE PARTING OF ROMEO AND JULIET.
My eyelids and my brow.
Hark how the wild rain hisses,

JULIET. Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near
And the loud sea roars below.

day:

It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
Thy heart beats through thy rosy limbs, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;
So gladly doth it stir ;

Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree :
Thine eye in drops of gladness swims. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

I have bathed thee with the pleasant myrrh; Romeo. It was the lark, the herald of the Thy locks are dripping balm ;

morn, Thou shalt not wander hence to-night, No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks I'll stay thee with my kisses.

Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east : To-night the roaring brine

Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Will rend thy golden tresses ;

Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
The ocean with the morrow light

I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Will be both blue and calm ; -

JULIET. Yon light is not daylight, I know And the billow will embrace thee with a kiss as soft as mine.

It is some meteor, that the sun exhales,

To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
No Western odors wander

And light thee on thy way to Mantua :
On the black and moaning sea,

Therefore stay yet, - thou need'st not be gone. And when thou art dead, Leander,

Romeo. Let me be ta’en, let me be put to My soul must follow thee!

death ; O, go not yet, my love,

I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
Thy voice is sweet and low;

I'll say, yon gray is not the morning's eye,
The deep salt wave breaks in above

'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
Those marble steps below.

Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The turret-stairs are wet

The vaulty heaven so high above our heads : That lead into the sea.

I have more care to stay than will to go ;Leander ! go not yet.

Come, death, and welcome ! Juliet wills it so. The pleasant stars have set :

How is 't, my soul ? let's talk, it is not day. 0, go not, go not yet,

JULIET. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away!
Or I will follow thee.

It is the lark that sings so out of tunc,
Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps.
Some say, the lark makes sweet division;

This doth not so, for she divideth us :
THE PARTING LOVERS.

Some say, the lark and loathéd toad change

eyes: She says, “The cock crows, — hark !". 10, now I would they had changed voices too! He says, “No! still 't is dark."

Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,

Hunting thee hence, with hunts-up to the day. She says, “ The dawn grows bright,” 0, now be gone; more light and light it grows. He says “O no, my Light."

Romeo. More light and light, — more dark

and dark our woes. She says, “Stand up and say,

JULIET. Then, window, let day in, and let Gets not the heaven gray ?".

life out.

Romeo. Farewell, farewell ! one kiss, and I'll He says, “The morning star

descend.

(Descends.) Climbs the horizon's bar.”

JULIET. Art thou gone so ? my love! my

lord ! my friend ! She says, “Then quick depart :

I must hear from thee every day i' the hour, Alas! you 'now must start;

For in a minute there are many days :

ALFRED TENNYSON,

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SHAKESPEARE.

BYROX.

Oh ! by this count I shall be much in years, I Yon sun that sets upon the sea
Ere I again behold my Romeo.

We follow in his flight;
Romeo. Farewell ! I will omit no opportunity / Farewell awhile to him and thee,
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.

My native Land — Good Night !
JULIET. O, think'st thou we shall ever meet
again?

A few short hours, and he will rise Romeo. I doubt it not; and all these woes

To give the morrow birth; shall serve

And I shall hail the main and skies,
For sweet discourses in our time to come.

But not my mother earth.
Deserted is my own good hall,

Its hearth is desolate;

Wild weeds are gathering on the wall;
AS SLOW OUR SHIP.

My dog howls at the gate.
As slow our ship her foamy track

Against the wind was cleaving,
Her trembling pennant still looked back

LOCHABER NO MORE.
To that dear isle 't was leaving.
So loath we part from all we love,

FAREWELL to Lochaber! and farewell, my Jean,
From all the links that bind us ;

Where heartsome with thee I hae mony day been !
So turn our hearts, as on we rove,

For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more,
To those we've left behind us !

We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more !

These tears that I shed they are a' for my dear, When, round the bowl, of vanished years And no for the dangers attending on war,

We talk with joyous seeming, – | Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody shore,
With smiles that might as well be tears, Maybe to return to Lochaber no more.

So faint, so sad their beaming ;
While memory brings us back again Though hurricanes rise, and rise every wind,
Each early tie that twined us,

They 'll ne'er make a tempest like that in my mind;
O, sweet's the cup that circles then

Though loudest of thunder on louder waves roar, To those we've left behind us !

That 's naething like leaving my love on the shore.

To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pained ; And when, in other climes, we meet By ease that's inglorious no fame can be gained ; Some isle or vale enchanting,

And beauty and love's the reward of the brave,
Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet, And I must deserve it before I can crave.

And n'aught but love is wanting ;
We think how great had been our bliss Then glory, my Jeany, maun plead my excuse;
If Heaven had but assigned us

Since honor commands me, how can I refuse ?
To live and die in scenes like this,

Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee,
With some we've left behind us ! And without thy favor I'd better not be.

| I gae then, my lass, to win honor and fame, As travellers oft look back at eve

And if I should luck to come gloriously hame, When eastward darkly going,

I'll bring a heart to thee with love running o'er, To gaze upon that light they leave

And then I 'll leave thee and Lochaber no more. Still faint behind then glowing, –

ALLAN RAMSAY.
So, when the close of pleasure's day

To gloom hath near consigned us,
We turn to catch one fading ray

MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME. "
Of joy that's left behind us.

NEGRO SONG. | The sun shines bright in our old Kentucky home,

'T is summer, the darkeys are gay ; ADIEU, ADIEU ! MY NATIVE SHORE. | The corn top's ripe and the meadow's in the bloom,

1 While the birds make music all the day ; ADIEU, adieu ! my native shore

The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,
Fades o'er the waters blue;

All merry, all happy, all bright;
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, By'm by hard times comes a knockin'at the door, -
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.

| Then, my old Kentucky home, good night i

THOMAS MOORE,

CHORUS. Weep no more, my lady ; 0, weep no more

to-day! We'll sing one song for my old Kentucky

home, For our old Kentucky home far away.

They hunt no more for the possum and the coon,

On the meadow, the hill, and the shore ; They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon,

On the bench by the old cabin door ; The day goes by, like a shadow o'er the heart,

With sorrow where all was delight; The time has come, when the darkeys have to part, Then, my old Kentucky home, good night!

Weep no more, my lady, &c.

Would that breast were bared before thee

Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thee

Which thou ne'er canst know again : Would that breast, by thee glanced over,

Every inmost thought could show! Then thou wouldst at last discover

'T was not well to spurn it so. Though the world for this commend thee,

Though it smile upon the blow, Even its praises must offend thee,

Founded on another's woe :
Though my many faults defaced me,

Could no other arm be found,
Than the one which once embraced me,

To inflict a cureless wound ?
Yet, O yet, thyself deceive not:

Love may sink by slow decay, But by sudden wrench, believe not

Hearts can thus be torn away ;

The head must bow, and the back will have to bend,

Wherever the darkey may go; A few more days, and the troubles all will end,

In the field where the sugar-cane grow; A few more days to tote the weary load,

No matter it will never be light; A few more days till we totter on the road, Then, my old Kentucky home, good night! Weep no more, my lady, &c.

ANONYMOUS.

FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST

PRAYER.

FAREWELL ! if ever fondest prayer

For other's weal availed on high, Mine will not all be lost in air,

But wast thy name beyond the sky. 'T were vain to speak, to weep, to sigh :

Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,

Are in that word — Farewell ! - Farewell !

Still thine own its life retaineth,

Still must mine, though bleeding, beat; And the undying thought which paineth

Is — that we no more may meet.
These are words of deeper sorrow
• Than the wail above the dead;
Both shall live, but every morrow

Wake us from a widowed bed.
And when thou wouldst solace gather,

When our child's first accents flow,
Wilt thou teach her to say “Father !"

Though his care she must forego ? When her little hands shall press thee,

When her lip to thine is pressed, Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,

Think of him thy love had blessed ! Should her lineaments resemble

Those thou nevermore mayst see,
Then thy heart will softly tremble

With a pulse yet true to me.
All my faults perchance thou knowest,

All my madness none can know;
All my hopes, where'er thou goest,

Wither, yet with thee they go. Every feeling hath been shaken ;

Pride which not a world could bow, Bows to thee, - by thee forsaken,

Even my soul forsakes me now; But 't is done ; all words are idle, —

Words from me are vainer still ; But the thoughts we cannot bridle

Force their way without the will.

These lips are mute, these eyes are dry :

But in my breast and in my brain Awake the pangs that pass not by,

The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,

Though grief and passion there rebel :
I only know we loved in vain
I only feel — Farewell ! - Farewell !

BYRON,

FARE THEE WELL! AND IF FOREVER.

FARE thee well! and if forever,

Still forever, fare thee well; Even though unforgiving, never

'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.

Fare thee well !- thus disunited,

Torn from every nearer tie, Seared in heart, and lone, and blighted,

More than this I scarce can die.

| When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,

And Innocence is closing up his eyes, Now! if thou wouldst -- when all have given

him over — From death to life thou might'st him yet recover.

MICHAEL DRAYTON.

BYROX.

WHEN WE TWO PARTED.

WHEN we two parted
In silence and tears, ,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss :
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this !
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow;
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame :
I hear thy name spoken
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear ;
A shudder comes o'er me-
Why wert thou so dear ?
They know not I knew theo
Who knew thee too well :
Long, long shall 1 rue theo
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met:
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee? -
With silence and tears. ,

BYRON,

FAREWELL, THOU ART TOO DEAR. FAREWELL! thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou know'st thy estimate : The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; My bonds in thee are all determinate. For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? And for that riches where is my deserving? The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, And so my patent back again is swerving. Thyself thou gav’st, thy own worth then not

knowing, Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking; So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, Comes home again, on better judgment making.

Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter; In sleep a king, but, waking, no such matter.

SHAKESPEARE.

AN EARNEST SUIT

TO HIS UNKIND MISTRESS NOT TO FORSAKE HIM.

AND wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay! say nay ! for shame!
To save thee from the blame
Of all my grief and grame.
And wilt thou leave me thus ?

| Say nay ! say nay!
And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath loved thee so long,
In wealth and woe among ?
And is thy heart so strong
As for to leave me thus ?

Say nay ! sày nay!
And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath given thee my heart,
Never for to depart,
Neither for pain nor smart ?
And wilt thou leave me thus ?

Say nay! say nav! And wilt thou leave me thus, And have no more pity Of him that loveth thee ! Alas! thy cruelty ! And wilt thou leave me thus ?

Say nay ! say này !

COME, LET US KISSE AND PARTE. Since there's no helpe, — come, let us kisse and

parte, Nay, I have done, - you get no more of me; And I am glad, — yea, glad with all my hearte,

That thus so cleanly I myselfe can free. Shake hands forever ! — cancel all our vows;

And when we meet at any time againe,
Be it not seene in either of our brows,

That we one jot of former love retaine.
Now — at the last gaspe of Love's latest breath

When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies;

SIR THOMAS WYAT.

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