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I saw her pace, with quiet grace, the shaded path along.
And pause to pluck a flower, or hear the thrush's song.
Denied by her proud father as a suitor to be seen, She came to me, with loving trust, my gracious little queen.
Above my station, heaven knows, that gentle maiden shone,
For she was belle and wide beloved, and I a youth unknown.
The rich and great about her thronged, and sought on bended knee
For love this gracious princess gave, with all her heart, to me.
So like a startled fawn before my longing eyes she stood,
With all the freshness of a girl in flush of womanhood.
I trembled as I put my arm about her form divine, And stammered, as in awkward speech, I begged her to be mine.
'Tis sweet to hear the pattering rain, that lulls a dimlit dream —
'Tis sweet to hear the song of birds, and sweet the
rippling stream; "Tis sweet amid the mountain pines to hear the south
More sweet than these and all beside was the loving, low reply.
The little hand I held in mine held all I had of life, To mold its better destiny and soothe to sleep its strife.
'Tis said that angels watch o'er men, commissioned from above;
My angel walked with me on earth, and gave to me her love.
Ah! dearest wife, my heart is stirred, my eyes are dim with tears —
I think upon the loving faith of all these bygone years,
For now we stand upon this spot, as in that dewy morn,
With the bloom upon the alder and the tassel on the corn.
THE GO¥AN GLITTERS ON THE SWARD.
SHE gowan glitters on the sward, The laverock's in the sky, *5£3And Collie on my plaid keeps ward, Tf And time is passing by. O, no! sad and slow,
And lengthened on the ground; The shadow of our trysting bush It wears so slowly round.
My sheep-bells tinkle frac the west,
My lambs are bleating near:
The shadow lingers still;
I hear below the water roar,
These are nae sounds for me;
I coft yestreen, frae Chapman Tam,
A snood o' bounie blue,
The mark it winna' pass;
O, now I see her on the way!
She's past the witch's knowe;
'Tis glamrie I hae seen;
My book o' grace I'll try to read,
The time will ne'er be gane;
OTSgT Paris it was, at the opera there;
Kll And she looked like a queen in a book that
With the wreath of pearls in her raven hair,
Of all the operas that Verdi wrote.
And Mario can soothe, with a tenor note,
The moon on the tower slept soft as snow;
And who was not thrilled in the strangest way, As we heard him sing, while the gas burned low,
"Non ti scordar di me?"
The Emperor there, in his box of state,
The red Hag wave from the city gate,
The Empress, too, had a tear in her eye:
For one moment, under the old blue sky
Well, there in our front-row box we sat
My gaze was fixed on my opera-hat,
And both were silent, and both were sad —
With that l egal, indolent air she had —
I have not a doubt she was thinking then
Wlu died the richest and roundest of men,
I hope that to get to the kingdom of heaven,
I wish him well for the jointure given
Meanwhile, I was thinking of my first love
Till over my eyes there began to move
I thought of the dress that she wore last time,
In that lost land, in that soft clime,
Of that muslin dress (for the eve was hot),
And her full soft hair, just tied in a knot,
Of the jasmine flower that she wore in her breast,
And the one bird singing alone in his nest,
I thought of our little quarrels and strife.
And it all seemed then, in the waste of life,
For I thought of her grave below the hill,
And I thought, "Were she only living still,
And I swear, as I thought of her thus, in that hour.
That I smelt the smell of that jasmine flower
It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet,
Like the scent that steals from the crumbling sheet
And I turned and looked: she was sitting there,
In that muslin dress, with that full soft, hair,
I was here, and she was there;
And the glittering horseshoe curved between!— From my bride betrothed, with her raven hair
And her sumptuous scornful mien,
To my early love with her eyes downcast.
(In short, from the future back to the past.)
To my early love from my future bride
I traversed the passage; and down at her side
My thinking of her, or the music's strain,
Had brought her back from the grave again,
She is not dead, and she is not wed!
But she loves me now, and she loved me then! And the very lirst word that her sweet lips said,
My heart grew youthful again.
The marchioness there, of Carabas,
She is wealthy, and young, and handsome still; And but for her — well, we '11 let that pass;
She may marry whomever she will.
But I will marry my own first love,
With her primrose face, for old things are best; And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above
The brooch in my lady's breast.
The world is filled with folly and sin,
For beauty is easy enough to win;
And I think, in the lives of most women and men, There's a moment when all would go smooth and even,
If only the dead could find out when
But O, the smell of that jasmine flower!
And O, the music! and O, the way
Non ti scordar di me,
Non ti scordar di me!
Robert Bclwer Lytton.
)ME in the evening or come in the morning, Come when you're looked for, or come without warning,
Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, And the ofteuer you come here the more I'll adore you.
Light is iny heart since the day we were plighted,
I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose them;
Or saber and shield to a knight without armor;
I'll sing you sweet songs ( ill the stars rise above me.
Then, wandering, I'll wish you, iu sileuce, to love
We'll look through the trees at the cliff and the eyrie,
And trust, when in secret most tunefully streaming,
So come in the evening or come in the morning,
Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you,
Light is my heart since the day we were plighted;
Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted;
The green of the trees looks far greener than ever.
And the linnets are singing, "True lovers, don't sever."
Never burn kindly written letters: it is so pleasant to read them over when the ink is brown, the paper yellow with age, and the hands that traced the friendly words are folded over the hearts that prompted them. Keep all loving letters. Burn only the harsh ones, and in burning, forgive and forget them.
My lambkins around me would oftentimes play,
But now, in their frolics when by me they pass,
My dog T was ever well pleas6d to see Come wagging his tnil to my fair one and me; And Phoebe was pleased too, and to my dog said, "Come hither, poor fellow;" and patted his head. But now, when he's fawning, I with a sour look Cry "Sirrah!" and give him a blow with my crook:
And I'll give him another; for why should not TrayBe as dull as his master, when Phoebe's aw ay?
When walking with Phoebe, what sights have I seen,
How fair was the flower, how fresh was the green!
Sweet music went with us both all the wood through,
The lark, linnet, throstle, and nightingale, too; Winds over us whispered, flocks by us did bleat. And chirp! went the grasshopper under our feet.
But now she is absent, though still they sing on,
Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
How slowly Time creeps till my Phoabe return! While amidst the soft zephyr's cool breezes I burn: Methinks if I knew whereabouts he would tread, I could breathe on his wings, and 't would melt
down the lead. Fly swifter, ye minutes, bring hither my dear, And rest so much longer for't when she is here. Ah, Colin! old Time is full of delay, Nor will budge one foot faster for all thou canst
Will no pitying power, that hears me complain, Or cure my disquiet or soften my pain? To be cured, thou must, Colin, thy passion remove; But what swain is so silly to live without love! No, deity, bid the dear nymph to return, For ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly forlorn. Ah! what shall I do? I shall die with despair, Take heed, all ye swains, how ye part with your fair.
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.
|lIE racing river leaped and sang
Full blithely in the perfect weather. All round the mountain echoes rang, For blue and green were glad together
This rains out light from every part.
And that with songs of joy was thrilling; But in the hollow of my heart.
There ached a place that wanted filling.
Before the road and river meet,
And stepping-stones are wet and glisten, I heard a sound of laughter sweet,
And paused to like it, and to listen.
I heard the chanting waters flow,
The cushat's note, the bee's low humming.
Then turned the hedge, and did not know —
A girl upon the highest stone,
So far the shallow flood had flown,
She knew not any need of me.
She thought not I had crossed the sea,
I waded out, her eyes I met,
I wished the moments had been hours; I took her in my arms and set
Her dainty feet among the flowers.
Her fellow-maids in copse and lane,
The wind's soft whisper in the plain,
But now it is a year ago,
And now possession crowns endeavor; I took her in my heart to grow
And till the hollow place forever.