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Where the mellow bees are humming and the (From "The Duenna.")
apple blossoms float: OFT pity never leaves the gentle breast
Is she biding, is she biding where the brooklet Where love has been received a welcome And does she bind the daisies in a posy for
leaps and trills, guest;
her throat? As wandering saints poor huts have sacred
made, He hallows every heart he once has swayed ; Somewhere, somewhere, I know not where, And when his presence we no longer share,
My love and I shall meet, Still leaves compassion as a relic there.
For there's a Fate through foul and fair RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN.
That guides my wayward feet.
Is she biding where the starlight gleams upon
the frozen gloom, And faintly sing the carols that awake the
drowsy morn ? Is she biding, is she biding where the roses
never bloom, And the poppies never wave their crimson
banner through the corn?
She bides somewhere, I know not where,
But surely this I know:
SAMUEL MINTURN PECK.
SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.
HE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
Meet in her aspect and her eyes: “IS SHE BIDING?”
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies. S she biding where eternal summer smiles
II. | upon the seas, And the snowy orange blossoms ever flake the One shade the more, one ray the less, shelly strand ?
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress, Is she biding, is she biding where the tender tropic breeze
Or softly lightens o'er her face; Tells the story of his wooings to the billows Where thoughts serenely sweet express, on the sand ?
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. Somewhere, somewhere, I know not where, And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, Upon the land or sea
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, Somewhere, somewhere, all pure and fair, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, My love abides for me.
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below, Is she biding 'mid the clover blossoms upon A heart whose love is innocent! the purple hills,
GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON.
MY OWN SHALL COME. ERENE I fold my hands and wait,
Nor care for wind or tide or sea, I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
For lol my own shall come to me.
I stay my haste, I make delays,
For what avails this eager pace ? I stand amid the eternal ways
And what is mine shall know my face.
Asleep, awake, by night or day,
The friends I seek are seeking me; No wind can drive my bark astray,
Or change the tide of destiny.
What matter if I stand alone ?
I wait with joy the coming years, My heart shall reap where it has sown,
And garner up the fruit of tears.
The planets know their own and draw,
The tide turns to the sea;
And know my own shall come to me.
The stars come nightly to the sky,
The dews fall on the lea; Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high Can keep my own away from me.
THROUGH THE MEADOW. UDHE summer sun was soft and bland,
As they went through the meadow land.
The little wind that hardly shook
The tangled grasses from her shoe
Ah! little coquettel Fair deceit!
WILLIAM D. HOWELLS.
WILLIAM D. HOWELLS.
CUPID DEFIED. (From "Midsummer Night's Dream,” Act I., Scene 2.) M Y gentle Puck, come hither; thou remem
ber'st Šince once I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, That the rude sea grew civil at her song; And certain stars shot madly from their
spheres, To hear the sea-maid's music. Puck.
I remember. Obe. That very time I saw (but thou could'st
not ) Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all arm’d; a certain aim he took At a fair vestal, throned by the west; And loos’d his love-shaft smartly from his bow As it should pierce a hundred thousand
hearts: But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry
It fell upon a little western flower,–
WHY NOT? Before, milk-white; now purple with love's wound,
WHEN Womana notes, and will not show it, And maidens call it, love-in-idleness.
her lover do
I asked a scholar, and a poet,
But neither wise fool seemed to know it;
So, lady, I ask you.
Were you in love (let me suppose it),
What should your lover do? MESTERDAY, darling-only yesterday, You know you love him and he knows it; The heavens were bright, and all the Oh! why not, then, to him disclose it, earth was fair;
As he his love to you? Love's golden radiance fell upon our way
RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. Love's dreamy music filled the scented air: A thousand wild flowers trembled round our
feet, We saw the lilac boughs above us sway; And heard the woodlark singing high and
sweet, Yesterday, darling-only yesterday.
Yesterday, darling-only yesterday,
With lips apart and hair of russet brown, You came, dear heart, across the flower-deck
ed way, Sweeping the grasses with your trailing
gown; Upon your cheek there was a wild-rose glow,
And in your eyes there was a sunset ray; You came with arms outstretched—you loved
me so, Yesterday, darling-only yesterday.
Yesterday, darling-only yesterday,
A soft breeze stealing from the sunny south
RICHARD HENRY STODDARD.
H, well these places knew and lov'd us Yesterday, darling-Only yesterday.
The Genii softly laughed to see us pass, Yesterday, darling-only yesterday;
To kiss our blessed hands up climbed the Ah, me! ah, me! but yesterday is—dead :
grass, The sun still shines across the flower-decked And on our pathway danced a flowery train; way,
To counsel us each aged tree was fain, And still the woodlark warbles overhead; And all its leafy accents we could class; But in the shadows of a great despair, By symbol circles on its polished glass,
I weep, dear heart, upon the weary way, By chiming shallows, still the brook spake For love's bright dream, that made the earth plain. so fair
Now all is changed : I look and list in vain; Yesterday, darling-only yesterday. As one who sits and hears a solemn mass,
M. M. FORRESTER. In other language, in an alien fane,
So I without thee in these haunts, alas !
Aft I wad chase thee o'er the lea, Am nature's stranger-so must I remain And round about the thorny tree, Till, sweet interpreter! thou come again. Or pu' the wild-flowers a' for thee,
Edith M. THOMAS. My only jo and dearie 0.
TO THE EVENING STAR.
(Extract.) DOW sweet thy modest light to view, 10 Fair star, to love and lovers dear! While trembling on the falling dew,
Like beauty shining through a tear.
I hae a wish I canna time,
'Mang a' the cares that grieve me 0;. I wish thou wert forever mine,
And never mair to leave me 0:
Thine are the soft, enchanting hours
When twilight lingers o'er the plain, And whispers to the closing flowers
That soon the sun will rise again. Thine is the breeze that murmuring bland
As music, wafts the lover's sigh, And bids the yielding heart expand
In love's delicious ecstasy.
SONNET. (It will be noticed that this sonnet has fifteen lines.) WHE forward violet thus did I chide :
Fair star, though I be doomed to prove
That rapture's tears are mixed with pain, Ah, still I feel 'tis sweet to love, But sweeter to be loved again!
sweet that smells, If not from my love's breath? The purple
pride 'Which on thy soft cheek for complexion
dwells, In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dy'd. The lily I condemned for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair: The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair; A third, nor red nor white had stolen of both.
And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath; But for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death. More flowers I noted, yet I none could see. But sweet or colour it had stolen from thee.
MY ONLY JO AND DEARIE 0. WHY cheek is o' the rose’s hue,
T My only jo and dearie 0;
Upon the banks sae briery 0;
My only jo and dearie 0.
SONG. (From "Merchant of Venice," Act III., Scene 2.)
UVELL me, where is fancy bred,
The bird sings upon the thorn
Its sang o’joy, fu' cheerie 0, Rejoicing in the summer morn,
Nae care to mak' it eerie 0; But little kens the sangster sweet Aught o' the cares I hae to meet, That gar my restless bosom beat,
My only jo and dearie 0.
When we were bairnies on yon brae,
And youth was blinking bonny 0, Aft we wad daff the lee-lang day
Ours joys su' sweet and mony 0;
How begot, how nourished ?
With gazing fed ; and fancy dies
Let us all ring fancy's knell;
I'll begin it,Ding, dong, bell. All. Ding, dong, bell.