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JOHN ALDEN AND PRISCILLA. So I have come to you now, with an offer and
proffer of marriage (From “ The Courtship of Miles Standish.”)
Made by a good man and true, Miles Standish, O he entered the house; and the hum of
the Captain of Plymouth.” the wheel and the singing Suddenly ceased; for Priscilla, aroused by his step on the threshold,
Thus he delivered his message; the dexterous Rose as he entered, and gave him her hand, in
writer of letters, signal of welcome,
Did not embellish the theme, or array it in Saying, “I knew it was you, when I heard beautiful phrases, your step in the passage;
But came straight to the point, and blurted it For I was thinking of you, as I sat there sing
out like a school-boy; ing and spinning."
Even the Captain himself could hardly have Awkward and dumb with delight, that a
said it more bluntly. thought of him had been mingled
Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla, Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the the Puritan maiden, heart of the maiden,
Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated Silent before her he stood, and gave her the
with wonder, flowers for an answer.
Feeling his words like a blow, that stunned
her and rendered her speechless ;
Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the Then they sat down and talked of the birds
ominous silence, and the beautiful spring-time,
"If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very Talked of their friends at home, and the May eager to wed me, flower that sailed on the morrow.
Why does he not come himself, and take the ** I have been thinking all day,” said gently If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not
trouble to woo me? the Puritan maiden, “ Dreaming all night, and thinking all day, of
worth the winning.” the hedge-rows of England; They are in blossom now, and the country is Then John Alden began explaining and all like a garden;
smoothing the matterThinking of lanes and fields, and the song of Urging the suit of his friend, explaining, perthe lark and the linnet;
suading, expanding ; Seeing the village street, and familiar faces But, as he warmed and glowed, in his simple of neighbors
and eloquent language, Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise together;
of his rival, And, at the end of the street, the village Archly the maiden smiled, and with eyes runchurch with the ivy
ning over with laughter, Climbing the old gray tower, and the quiet Said, in a tremulous voice, “Why don't you graves in the churchyard.
speak for yourself, John ?" Kind are the people I live with, and dear to
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. me my religion ; Still my heart is so sad, that I wish myself
back in old England. You will say it is wrong, but I cannot help it;
STANZA: THE CHOICE. I almost Wish myself back in Old England, I feel so S when a lady, walking Flora's bower, lonely and wretched.
Picks here a pink, and here a gilly-flowTbereupon answered the youth: “Indeed, I er, do not condemn you;
Now plucks a violet from her purple bed, Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in And then a primrose, the year's maidenhead, this terrible winter.
There nips the briar, here the lover's pansy, Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a Shifting her dainty pleasures with her fancy, stronger to lean on;
This on her arms, and that she lists to wear
Upon the borders of her curious hair; She plucks, and bosoms in her lily breast. At length a rose-bud, passing all the rest,
AT THE CHURCH GATE.
She comes; she's here; she's past;
May heaven go with her!
Kneel undisturbed, fair saint!
Pour out your praise or plaint
Meekly and duly;
I will not enter there,
To sully your pure prayer
With thoughts unruly.
But suffer me to pace
Round the forbidden place,
Lingering a minute,
Like outcast spirits who wait,
And see through heaven's gate
Angels within it.
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.
TRIUMPH OF CHARIS.
Wherein my lady rideth!
And well the car Love guideth.
Unto her beauty,
But enjoy such a sight,
would ride. Do but look on her eyes, they do light
All that Love's world compriseth!
As Love's star when it riseth!
Than words that soothe her!
Sheds itself through the face,
Before rude hands have touched it?
Before the soil hath smutched it?
Or swan's down ever?
Or the nard in the fire ?
GOOD-MORROW. DACK clouds away, and welcome day;
With night we banish sorrow; Sweet air, blow soft; mount, larks, aloft,
To give my love good-morrow. Wings from the wind to please her mind,
Notes from the lark I'll borrow; Bird, prune thy wing; nightingale, sing,
To give my love good-morrow. Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast;
Sing, birds, in every furrow; And from each hill let music shrill
Give my fair love good-morrow. Blackbird and thrush in every bush,
Stare, linnet and cock-sparrow; You pretty elves, among yourselves, Sing my fair love good-morrow.
THOMAS HEYWOOD. TO LUCASTA.
That from the nunnery
To war and arms I fly.
The first foe in the field,
A sword, a horse, a shield.
As you, too, must adore;
SIR RICHARD LOVELACE.
SONG. WITHDRAW not yet those lips and fin
Whose touch to mine is rapture's spell;
And death seems in the word farewell.
Flies like a courser nigh the goal;
When thou art parted from my soul?
CUPID AND CAMPASPE.
(From “ Alexander and Campaspe.") YUPID and my Campaspe played
At cards for kisses; Cupid paid. He staked his quiver, bow, and arrows, His mother's doves and team of sparrows; Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on's cheek, but none knows how; With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin. All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes; She won; and Cupid blind did rise. O Love, hath she done thus to thee? What shall, alas! become of me?
TO THE LADY ANNE HAMILTON.
. Too late I stayed; forgive the crime;
When all its sands are diamond sparks
That dazzle as they pass ? How noiseless falls the foot of Time
Ah! who to sober measurement That only treads on flowers !
Time's happy swiftness brings,
When birds of Paradise bave lent What eye with clear account remarks
Their plumage to his wings ? The ebbing of his glass.
WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER.
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, TO HIS LOVE.
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs;
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee, and be thy love.
But could youth last, and love still breed, Melodious birds sing madrigals.
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move And I will make thee beds of roses,
To live with thee, and be thy love. And a thousand fragrant posies,
SIR WALTER RALEIGH. A cap of flowers, and a kirtle, Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;
A gown make of the finest wool,
SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
THE NYMPHS REPLY.
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
FREEDOM AND LOVE.