« PreviousContinue »
Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,
Think of him thy love had blessed!
Should her lineaments resemble
Those thou nevermore mayst see, Then thy heart will softly tremble With a pulse yet true to me.
All my faults perchance thou knowest,
All my madness none can know; All my hopes, where'er thou goest,
Wither, yet with thee they go.
Every feeling hath been shaken;
Pride, which not a world could bow, Bows to thee,- by thee forsaken,
Even my soul forsakes me now:
But 'tis done: all words are idle,
Words from me are vainer still; But the thoughts we cannot bridle
Force their way without the will.
Fare thee well! — thus disunited,
Torn from every nearer tie,
More than this I scarce can die.
BY LORD BYRON
"O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater
When Friendship or Love our sympathies move,
When Truth in a glance should appear,
But the test of affection's a Tear.
Too oft is a smile but the hypocrite's wile,
To mask detestation or fear;
Is dimm'd for a time with a Tear.
Mild Charity's glow, to us mortals below,
Shows the soul from barbarity clear; Compassion will melt where this virtue is felt,
And its dew is diffused in a Tear.
The man doom'd to sail with the blast of the gale,
Through billows Atlantic to steer, As he bends o'er the wave which may soon be his
grave, The green sparkles bright with a Tear.
The soldier braves death for a fanciful wreath
In Glory's romantic career;
If with high-bounding pride he return to his bride,
Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear,
From her eyelid he kisses the Tear.
Where love chased each fast-fleeting year, Loth to leave thee, I mourn’d, for a last look I turn'd,
But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear.
My Mary to Love once so dear,
She rewarded those vows with a Tear.
By another possesst, may she live ever blest!
Her name still my heart must revere:
And forgive her deceit with a Tear.
This hope to my breast is most near;
May we meet, as we part, with a Tear.
And my corse shall recline on its bier,
Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear.
May no marble bestow the splendor of woe
Which the children of vanity rear;
BY W. J. CAMERON
The sun's high and the moon's high;
The bay's a crescent of blue.
And only the waves come through.
The town sleeps and the bay sleeps.
Tangled and golden brown,
As the waves lap, up and down.
The night comes and the wind comes;
Landward the white crests ride. Hark to the voice in the wind that cries, As it drifts like a bird 'twixt the sea and the skies.
“There is one that will go with the tide!”
The dawn's here and the day's here!
The wind ebbs out, and the sea.
For the sea-bird's out to the sea.
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER
BY THOMAS CAMPBELL
A chieftain, to the Highlands bound,
Cries, “Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound,
To row us o'er the ferry.”
“Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water?” “O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
And this Lord Ullin's daughter.
“ And fast before her father's men
Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.
“ His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?”
Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,
I'm ready: -
But for your winsome lady:
“And by my word! the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry: So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry."