In This, I fondly hoped to class, A Friend whom Death alone could sever
with malignant Grasp, Has toom the from my Bnast forever
WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye 's And so Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.
He hadna been gane awa a twelvemonth and a day,
I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin;
I darena think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin
But I'll do my best a gude wife to be,
When my father brake his arm, and the cow was For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me.
FROM "MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM."
FOR aught that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth:
But, either it was different in blood,
Or else misgraffed in respect of years;
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends;
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
Making it momentary as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
And ere a man hath power to say, Behold!
The jaws of darkness do devour it up :
So quick bright things come to confusion.
BYRON'S LATEST VERSES. On this day I completed my [Missolonghi, January 23, 1824. thirty-sixth year.]
"T is time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it has ceased to move;
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love.
My days are in the yellow leaf,
The flowers and fruits of love are gone,
The worm, the canker, and the grief,
Are mine alone.
The fire that in my bosom preys
Is like to some volcanic isle,
No torch is kindled at its blaze,
A funeral pile.
The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain
And power of love, I cannot share,
But wear the chain.
But 't is not here, it is not here,
Angels have fallen ere thy time; by pride,
That sole alloy of thy most lovely mold,
The evil spirit of a bitter love
And a revengeful heart had power upon thee.
From my first years my soul was filled with thee;
I saw thee midst the flowers the lowly boy
Tended, unmarked by thee, a spirit of bloom,
And joy and freshness, as spring itself
Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape!
I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man
Entered the breast of the wild-dreaming boy;
And from that hour I grew - what to the last
I shall be thine adorer! Well, this love,
Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became
A fountain of ambition and bright hope;
I thought of tales that by the winter hearth
Old gossips tell, - how maidens sprung from
kings
Have stooped from their high sphere; how Love,
like Death,
Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook
Beside the scepter. Thus I made my home
In the soft palace of a fairy Future !
My father died; and I, the peasant-born,-
Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise
Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now, Out of the prison of my mean estate;
Where glory seals the hero's bier,
Or binds his brow.
The sword, the banner, and the field,
Glory and Greece about us see;
The Spartan borne upon his shield
Was not more free.
Awake! not Greece, she is awake!
Awake, my spirit! think through whom
My life-blood tastes its parent lake,
And then strike home!
And, with such jewels as the exploring mind
Brings from the caves of Knowledge, buy my
From those twin jailers of the daring heart,
Low birth and iron fortune. Thy bright image,
Glassed in my soul, took all the hues of glory,
And lured me on to those inspiring toils
By which man masters men! For thee, I grew
A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages!
For thee, I sought to borrow from each Grace
And every Muse such attributes as lend
Ideal charms to Love. I thought of thee,
And I, the while you talked to me,
I watched the gulls float lonesomely,
Till lost amid the hungry blue,
And loved you better than you knew.
You walk the sunny side of fate;
The wise world smiles, and calls you great;
The golden fruitage of success
Drops at your feet in plenteousness;
And you have blessings manifold :
Renown and power and friends and gold,
They build a wall between us twain,
Which may not be thrown down again,
Alas! for 1, the long years through,
Have loved you better than you knew.
Your life's proud aim, your art's high truth,
Have kept the promise of your youth;
And while you won the crown, which now
Breaks into bloom upon your brow,
My soul cried strongly out to you
Across the ocean's yearning blue,
While, unremembered and afar,
I watched you, as I watch a star
Through darkness struggling into view,
And loved you better than you knew.
I used to dream in all these years
Of patient faith and silent tears,
That Love's strong hand would put aside
The barriers of place and pride,
Would reach the pathless darkness through,
And draw me softly up to you;
But that is past. If you should stray
Beside my grave, some future day,
Perchance the violets o'er my dust
Will half betray their buried trust,
And say, their blue eyes full of dew,
"She loved you better than you knew."
ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN (FLORENCE PERCY).
LINDA TO HAFED.
FROM "THE FIRE-WORSHIPERS."
"How sweetly," said the trembling maid, Of her own gentle voice afraid,
So long had they in silence stood,
Looking upon that moonlight flood,
"How sweetly does the moonbeam smile
To-night upon yon leafy isle!
Oft in my fancy's wanderings,
I've wished that little isle had wings,
And we, within its fairy bowers,
Were wafted off to seas unknown, Where not a pulse should beat but ours, And we might live, love, die alone
Far from the cruel and the cold,
Where the bright eyes of angels only
Should come around us, to behold
A paradise so pure and lonely!
Would this be world enough for thee?".
Playful she turned, that he might see
The passing smile her cheek put on ; But when she marked how mournfully
His eyes met hers, that smile was gone; And, bursting into heartfelt tears, "Yes, yes," she cried, "my hourly fears, My dreams, have boded all too right,
We part- forever part to-night!
I knew, I knew it could not last,
'T was bright, 't was heavenly, but 't is past! O, ever thus, from childhood's hour,
I've seen my fondest hopes decay;
I never loved a tree or flower
But 't was the first to fade away.
I never nursed a dear gazelle,
To glad me with its soft black eye,
But when it came to know me well,
And love me, it was sure to die!
Now, too, the joy most like divine
Of all I ever dreamt or knew,
To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine,
O misery must I lose that too?
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