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Knowing your promise to me;

While the silver stars ride on that river. The lilies and roses were all awake, They sighed for the dawn and thee.

But this you may know: If you clasp Love's

wings,

And you hold him hard by that river, Queen-rose of the rose-bud garden of girls,

Why, his eyes grow green, and he turns and Come hither! the dances are done;

he stings, In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,

And the waters wax icy and shiver; Queen lily and rose in one;

The waters wax chill and the silvery wings Shine out, little head, sunning over with Of Love they are broken, as broken heartcurls,

strings, To the flowers and be their sun.

While darkness comes down on that river.

JOAQUIN MILLER. There has fallen a splendid tear

From the passion-fiower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;

She is coming, my life, my fate!
The red rose cries, “ She is near, she is near;"

And the white rose weeps, “ She is late;"
The larkspur listens, “I hear, I hear;"

And the lily whispers, “I wait.”

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She is coming, my own, my sweet!

Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,

Were it earth in an earthly bed ;
My dust would hear her and beat,

Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

JOAQUIN MILLER.

W

WHO IS LOVE?
PHY, Love, my love is a dragon fly

That weaves by the beautiful river,
Where waters flow warm, where willows

droop by,
Where lilies dip waveward and quiver,
Where stars of heaven they shine for aye,
If you take not hold of that dragon fly,

By the musical, mystical river.

SONG.
HE is not fair to outward view,

As many maidens be;
Her loveliness I never knew

Until she smiled on me;
Oh! then I saw her eye was bright,
A well of love, a spring of light.

Let Love go his ways; let the lilies grow

By that beautiful silvery river;
Let tall tules nod; let noisy reeds blow;

Let the lilies' lips open and quiver;
But when Love may come, or when Love may

But now her looks are coy and cold,

To mine they ne'er reply;
And yet I cease not to behold

The love-light in her eye;
Her very frowns are fairer far
Than smiles of other maidens are.

HARTLEY COLERIDGE.

go,

You may guess and may guess, but you never

shall know,

That thou hast kept a portion back,

While I have staked the whole, Let no false pity spare the blow, but in true

mercy tell me so. Is there within thy heart a need

That mine cannot fulfill ? One chord that any other hand

Could better wake or still? Speak now - lest at some future day my

whole life wither and decay. Lives there within thy nature hid

The demon-spirit change, Shedding a passing glory still

On all things new and strange? It may not be thy fault alone_but shield my

heart against thine own.
Could'st thou withdraw thy hand one day

And answer to my claim,
That Fate, and that to-day's mistake-

Not thou—had been to blame?
Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou

wilt surely warn and save me now. Nay, answer not-I dare not hear,

The words would come too late; Yet I would spare thee all remorse,

So comfort thee, my Fate,Whatever on my heart may fall-remember I would risk it all!

ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.

WS

THE COQUETTE. (HATSOE’ER she vowed to-day,

,

"DON'T BE SORROWFUL, DAR

LING."
DON'T be sorrowful, darling!

And don't be sorrowful, pray ;
Taking the year together, my dear,

There isn't more night than day. 'Tis rainy weather, my darling;

Time's waves they heavily run;
But taking the year together, my dear,

There isn't more cloud than sun.
We are old folks now, my darling,

Our heads are growing gray ;
But taking the year all around, my dear,

You will always find the May.
Te have had our May, my darling,

And our roses long ago;
And the time of the year is coming, my dear,

For the silent night and the snow.
But God is God, my darling,

Of the night as well as the day ;
And we feel and know that we can go

Wherever He leads the way.
A God of the night, my darling,

Of the night of death so grim;
The gate that leads out of life, good wife,
Is the gate that leads to Him.

REMBRANDT PEALE.

Ere a week had fled away,

She'd refuse me;
And shall I her steps pursue,
Follow still, and fondly too ?

No, excuse me?

A WOMAN'S QUESTION.

, Or place my hand in thine, Before I let thy future give

Color and form to mine,
Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul

to-night for me.
I break all slighter bonds, nor feel

A shadow of regret;
13 there one link within the Past

That holds thy spirit yet?
Or is thy faith as clear and free as that which

I can pledge to thee?
Does there within my dimmest dreams

A possible future shine,
Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe,
Untouched, unshared by mine?

at any pain or cost, 0, tell me before all

is lost. Look deeper still. If thou cans't feel,

Within thy inmost soul,

If she love me, it were kind
Just to teach me her own mind;

Let her lose me!
For no more I'll seek her side,
Court her favor, feed her pride;

No, excuse me!

If so,

Let her frown; frowns never kill;
Let her shun me,

if she will,
Hate, abuse me;
Shall I bend 'neath her annoy,
Bend, and make my heart a toy ?
No, excuse me!

CHARLES SWAIN,

How

HOW DO I LOVE THEE?

LOVE'S IMPRESS. TOW do I love thee? Let me count the Q ER light foot on a noble heart she set, ways:

18 And went again on her heedless way, I love thee to the depth and breadth and Vain idol of so steadfast a regret height

As never but with life could pass away. My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight Youth and youth's easy virtues, made her fair; For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

Triumphant through the sunny hours she I love thee to the level of each day's

ranged, Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

Then came the winter-bleak, unlovely, bare, I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

Still ruled her image over one unchanged. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use

So, where some trivial creature played of old, In my old griefs, and with my childhood's The warm soft clay received the tiny dint; faith.

We cleave the deep rock’s bosom, and behold, I love thee with a love I seem to lose

Sapped in its core the immemorial print. With my lost saints, I love thee with the Men marvel such frail record should outlive breath,

The vanished forests and the hills o'er hurlSmiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God ed; choose,

But high, souled love can keep a type alive I shall but love thee better after death.

Which has no living answer in the world. ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

E. HINXMAN.

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,

TO CELIA,

I sent thee late a rosy wreath, And I will pledge with mine;

Not so much honoring thee, Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

As giving it a hope, that there
And I'll not look for wine.

It could not withered be;
The thirst that from the soul doth rise But thou thereon did'st only breathe,
Doth ask a drink divine,

And sent’st it back to me;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,

Since when, it grows and smells, I swear, I would not change for thine.

Not of itself, but thee.

BEN JONSON.

[graphic][merged small]

,

had none,

OTHELLO'S DEFENSE.

I should but teach him how to tell my story,

And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I (From "Othello," Act I., Scene 3.)

spake: O justly to your grave ears I'll present She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd;

And I lov'd her, that she did pity them, And she in mine.

This only is the witchcraft I have us'd; Duke. Say it, Othello.

ere comes the lady, let her witness it. Oth. Her father lov'd me; oft invited me;

WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. Still question'd me the story of my life, From year to year; the battles, sieges, for

LOCHIN VAR. tunes, That I have pass’d.

(From "Marmion,'' Canto V.) I ran it through, even from my boyish days, H, young Lochinvar is come out of the To the very moment that he bade me tell it.

west, Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances, Through all the wide border his steed was the Of moving accidents by flood, and field;

best; Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent dead And save his good broadsword, he weapons

ly breach; Of being taken by the insolent foe,

He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. And sold to slavery; of my redemption So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, thence,

There never was knight like the young LochAnd portance in my travel's history :

invar. Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not touch heaven,

for stone, It was my hint to speak, such was the pro

He swam the Eske river where ford there was cess;

none; And of the cannibals that each other eat, But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads The bride had consented, the gallant came Do grow beneath their shoulders. These

late; things to hear,

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Would Desdemona seriously incline :

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.. But still the house-affairs would draw her So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, thence;

Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothWhich ever as she could with haste despatch,

ers, and all; She'd come again, and with a greedy ear

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his Devour up my discourse : Which I observing,

sword, Took once a pliant hour; and found good (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a means,

word), To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,

Oh come ye in peace, here, or come ye in war, That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord LochWhereof by parcels, she had something heard,

invar?" But not intentively. I did consent; And often did beguile her tears,

“I long wooed your daughter, my suit you When I did speak of some distressful stroke, denied ; That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its She gave me for my pains a world of sighs; She swore,–In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas And now I am come, with this lost love of passing strange;

mine, 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful :

To lead but one measure, drink one cup of She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wine. wish'd

There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by That heaven had made her such a man: she far, thank'd me;

That would gladly be bride to the young And bade me, if I had friend that lov'd her,

Lochinvar."

tide;

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