SIENNA. II. IV. PARTING LOVERS. IX. To die if need be. Still there's room, Since twice the lilies were in bloom They have not grudged a tomb. I love thee ... well ; – the proof was poor, And many a plighted maid and wife And mother, who can say since then “My son,” “my spouse," “my flower of men,' Before thy song (with shifted rhymes And not weep dumb again. XI. But daughters give up more than sons. Flags wave, drums beat, and unawares You flash your souls out with the guns, Heard nothing but a sigh at night, And take your heaven at once ! XII. 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 And perfected from bound to bound, ... By one grave in 't ! as one small wound May kill a man, 't is found ! Held both thine eyes in hers one day, What then? If love's delight must end, At least we 'll clear its truth from flaws. I love thee, love thee, sweetest friend ! Now take my sweetest without pause, To help the nation's cause. And thus of noble Italy We'll both be worthy. Let her show · Not sparing life, nor Giulio, But now that Italy invokes Nor this ... this heart-break. Go! ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. My voice, or drives me from the place : HERO TO LEANDER. XIV. xv. VII. VIII. I love thee ! it is understood, Confest : I do not shrink or start : Has gone to greaten this poor heart, 0, Go not yet, my love, The night is dark and vast; And the waves climb high and fast. Lest thy kiss should be the last. it, I: O kiss me ere we part; But give the cock a blow Who did begin our woe!” ANONYMOUS (Chinese). Translation of WILLIAM R. ALGER. My heart of hearts art thou. 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, Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree : 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 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 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, And light thee on thy way to Mantua : 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. 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 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! It is the lark that sings so out of tunc, This doth not so, for she divideth us : 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, SHAKESPEARE. BYROX. Oh ! by this count I shall be much in years, I Yon sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight; My native Land — Good Night ! 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, But not my mother earth. Its hearth is desolate; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; My dog howls at the gate. Against the wind was cleaving, LOCHABER NO MORE. FAREWELL to Lochaber! and farewell, my Jean, Where heartsome with thee I hae mony day been ! For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more, 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, So faint, so sad their beaming ; They 'll ne'er make a tempest like that in my mind; 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, And n'aught but love is wanting ; Since honor commands me, how can I refuse ? Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee, | 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. To gloom hath near consigned us, MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME. " 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, All merry, all happy, all bright; | 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 : Could no other arm be found, To inflict a cureless wound ? 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. Wake us from a widowed bed. When our child's first accents flow, 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, With a pulse yet true to me. All my madness none can know; 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 : 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 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! Say nay ! sày nay! 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, That we one jot of former love retaine. When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies; SIR THOMAS WYAT. |
