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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.

1

Yesterday, darling-only yesterday,

A soft breeze stealing from the sunny south Blew from your brow the tangled fringe away,

RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. And wooed the kisses from your crimson

OP: wain!

mouth; The boughs caressed you as you came along, The red sun kissed you with its parting ray,

THE INTERPRETER. The woodlark praised you in his happy song,

H, well these places knew and lov'd us Yesterday, darling-only yesterday.

twain !

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. 80 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 ! Am nature's stranger—so must I remain Till, sweet interpreter! thou come again.

EDITH M. THOMAS.

TO THE EVENING STAR.

(Extract.) DOW sweet thy modest light to view, 13 Fair star, to love and lovers dear! While trembling on the falling dew,

Like beauty shining through a tear.

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.

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!

JOHN LEYDEN.

MY ONLY JO AND DEARIE 0.

HY cheek is o' the rose's hue,

My only jo and dearie 0);
Thy neck is like the siller-dew

Upon the banks sae briery 0;
Thy teeth are o' the ivory,
Oh, sweet's the twinkle o' thine ee!
Nae joy, nae pleasure blinks on me,

My only jo and dearie 0.

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.

Aft I wad chase thee o'er the lea,
And round about the thorny tree,
Or pu' the wild-flowers a' for thee,

My only jo and dearie 0.

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:
Then I wad daut thee night and day,
Nor ither wardly care would hae,
Till life's warm stream forgot to play,
My only jo and dearie 0.

RICHARD GALL.

SONNET. (It will be noticed that this sonnet has fifteen lines.)

A

Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy

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.

WILLIAM SHAKSPERE.

SONG.

(From "Merchant of Venice," Act III., Scene 2.)

TELLI

JJELL me, where is fancy bred,

?

How begot, how nourished ?
Reply. It is engender'd in the eyes,

With gazing fed ; and fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies:

Let us all ring fancy's knell;

I'll begin it, -Ding, dong, bell.
All. Ding, dong, bell.

WILLIAM SHAKSPERI

When we were bairnies on yon brae,

And youth was blinking bonny 0, Aft we wad daff the lee-lang day

Ours joys fu' sweet and mony 0;

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“The careless days of peace and pleasure,
The nights of pure repose !”
YOUR COMING.

Your parting taught me pain.
What instinct led you here:

My breath grew quick, my blood ran doubleI know the world has changed around me It leaped in every vein. Since once you came so near.

Yet, ah! has time outdone the lover's kiss, [ yield a thousand claims to nourish this, The look—the burning look—the low reply?

At last the dearest hope, the nearest tie; If these be all he holds of happiness,
And looking but to you for happiness,

Happy am I.
Happy am I.

You lend to earth a vague emotion;
How lightly passed the maiden leisure

My self a stranger seems; That youth and freedom chose,

Your glance is mixed with sky and ocean; The careless days of peace and pleasure,

Your voice is heard in dreams. The nights of pure repose!

The good I choose is weighed with that I So swift a touch could set the tune amiss!

miss, So brief a shadow blot the morning sky!

My idlest laughter mated with a sigh,
Yet if the heart be made for happiness,

And moving only in your happiness,
Happy am I.

Happy am I.
O love, your coming taught me trouble;

DORA READ GOODALE.

QUA CURSUM VENTUS.
S ships, becalmed at eve, that lay

With canvas drooping side by side, Two towers of sail at dawn of day

Are scarce long leagues apart descried; When fell the night, up sprang the breeze,

And all the darkling hours they plied, Nor dreamt but each the self-same seas

By each was cleaving side by side:

Rides slow her soldiery all between,

And checks me unaware.

Ah nie! the little battle's done,
Dispersed is all its chivalry.
Full many a move since then, have we
Mid life's perplexing checkers made,
And many a game with fortune played-

What is it we have won ?
This, this, at least-if this alone-
That never, never, never more,
As in those old, still nights of yore-

Ere we were grown so sadly wise

Can you and I shut out the skies,
Shut out the world and wintry weather,

And eyes exchanging warmth with eyes, Play chess as then we played together!

EDWARD ROBERT, EARL LYTTON.

("* Owen Meredith.'')

E'en so—but why the tale reveal

Of those, whom year by year unchanged, Brief absence joined anew to feel,

Astounded, soul from soul estranged.

At dead of night their sails were filled,

And onward each rejoicing steeredAh, neither blame, for neither willed,

Or wist, what first with dawn appeared! To veer, how vain! On, onward strain,

Brave barks! In light and darkness too. Through winds and tides one compass guides,

To that, and your own selves, be true. But, o blithe breezel and O great seas,

Though ne'er that earliest parting past,
On your wide plain they join again,

Together lead them home at last.
One port, methought, alike they sought,

One purpose bold where'er they fare,
O bounding breeze, O rushing seas !
At last, at last, unite them there.

ARTHUR Hugh CLOUGH.

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THE CHESS-BOARD.
Y little love, do you remember,

Ere we were grown so sadly wise, Those evenings in the bleak December, Curtained warm from the snowy weather, When you and I played chess together,

Checkmated by each other's eyes ? Ah! still I see your soft white hand

Hovering warm o'er queen and knight; Brave pawns in valiant battle stand; The double castles guard the wings; The bishop, bent on distant things,

Moves sidling through the fight. Our fingers touch, our glances meet

And falter, falls your golden hair Against my cheek; your bosom sweet Is heaving ; down the field, your queen

TAKE, OH TAKE THOSE LIPS

AWAI" (From "The Passionate Pilgrim." Also found in "Measure for Measure," Act IV., Scene 1. It occurs in the " Rollo'' of Beaumont and Fletcher, to whom it is oiten attributed.)

TAKE, oh take those lips away,

P That so sweetly were forsworn;
And those eyes, the break of day,

Lights that do mislead the morn!
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, but sealed in vain !

WILLIAM SHAKSPERE,

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