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SONG.

Where the mellow bees are humming and the (From "The Duenna.")

apple blossoms float: OFT pity never leaves the gentle breast

Is she biding, is she biding where the brooklet Where love has been received a welcome And does she bind the daisies in a posy for

leaps and trills, guest;

her throat? As wandering saints poor huts have sacred

made, He hallows every heart he once has swayed ; Somewhere, somewhere, I know not where, And when his presence we no longer share,

My love and I shall meet, Still leaves compassion as a relic there.

For there's a Fate through foul and fair RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN.

That guides my wayward feet.

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Is she biding where the starlight gleams upon

the frozen gloom, And faintly sing the carols that awake the

drowsy morn ? Is she biding, is she biding where the roses

never bloom, And the poppies never wave their crimson

banner through the corn?

She bides somewhere, I know not where,

But surely this I know:
'Twill always seem like summer there,
Howe'er the wind may blow!

SAMUEL MINTURN PECK.

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.

I.

HE walks in beauty, like the night
RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN.

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes: IS SHE BIDING?

Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies. S she biding where eternal summer smiles

II. | upon the seas, And the snowy orange blossoms ever flake the One shade the more, one ray the less, shelly strand ?

Had half impair'd the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress, Is she biding, is she biding where the tender tropic breeze

Or softly lightens o'er her face; Tells the story of his wooings to the billows Where thoughts serenely sweet express, on the sand ?

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. Somewhere, somewhere, I know not where, And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, Upon the land or sea

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, Somewhere, somewhere, all pure and fair, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, My love abides for me.

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below, Is she biding 'mid the clover blossoms upon A heart whose love is innocent! the purple hills,

GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON.

MY OWN SHALL COME. ERENE I fold my hands and wait,

Nor care for wind or tide or sea, I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,

For lol my own shall come to me.

I stay my haste, I make delays,

For what avails this eager pace ? I stand amid the eternal ways

And what is mine shall know my face.

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Asleep, awake, by night or day,

The friends I seek are seeking me; No wind can drive my bark astray,

Or change the tide of destiny.

What matter if I stand alone ?

I wait with joy the coming years, My heart shall reap where it has sown,

And garner up the fruit of tears.

The planets know their own and draw,

The tide turns to the sea;
I stand serene midst nature's law

And know my own shall come to me.

The stars come nightly to the sky,

The dews fall on the lea; Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high Can keep my own away from me.

ANONYMOUS.

THROUGH THE MEADOW. UDHE summer sun was soft and bland,

As they went through the meadow land.

The little wind that hardly shook
The silver of the sleeping brook
Blew the gold hair about her eyes-
A mystery of mysteries!
So he must often pause, and stoop,
And all the wanton ringlets loop
Behind her dainty ear-emprise
Of slow event and many sighs.
Across the stream was scarce a step-
And yet she feared to try the leap;
And he, to still ber sweet alarm,
Must lift her over on his arm.
She could not keep the narrow way,
For still the little feet would stray,
And ever must he bend tundo

The tangled grasses from her shoe
From dainty rosebud lips in pout,
Must kiss the perfect flower out!

Ah! little coquettel Fair deceit!
Some things are bitter that were sweet.

WILLIAM D. HOWELLS.

WILLIAM D. HOWELLS.

CUPID DEFIED. (From "Midsummer Night's Dream,” Act I., Scene 2.) M Y gentle Puck, come hither; thou remem

ber'st Šince once I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, That the rude sea grew civil at her song; And certain stars shot madly from their

spheres, To hear the sea-maid's music. Puck.

I remember. Obe. That very time I saw (but thou could'st

not ) Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all arm’d; a certain aim he took At a fair vestal, throned by the west; And loos’d his love-shaft smartly from his bow As it should pierce a hundred thousand

hearts: But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry

moon ;
And the imperial vot’ress passed on,
In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell:

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It fell upon a little western flower,–

WHY NOT? Before, milk-white; now purple with love's wound,

WHEN Womana notes, and will not show it, And maidens call it, love-in-idleness.

her lover do

I asked a scholar, and a poet,
WILLIAM SHAKSPERE.

But neither wise fool seemed to know it;

So, lady, I ask you.
YESTERDAY.

Were you in love (let me suppose it),

What should your lover do? MESTERDAY, darling-only yesterday, You know you love him and he knows it; The heavens were bright, and all the Oh! why not, then, to him disclose it, earth was fair;

As he his love to you? Love's golden radiance fell upon our way

RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. Love's dreamy music filled the scented air: A thousand wild flowers trembled round our

feet, We saw the lilac boughs above us sway; And heard the woodlark singing high and

sweet, Yesterday, darling-only yesterday.

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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.

Yesterday, darling-only yesterday,

A soft breeze stealing from the sunny south
Blew from your brow the tangled fringe away,
And wooed the kisses from your crimson

RICHARD HENRY STODDARD.
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. so 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 !

Aft I wad chase thee o'er the lea, Am nature's stranger-so must I remain And round about the thorny tree, Till, sweet interpreter! thou come again. Or pu' the wild-flowers a' for thee,

Edith M. THOMAS. My only jo and dearie 0.

TO THE EVENING STAR.

(Extract.) DOW sweet thy modest light to view, 10 Fair star, to love and lovers dear! While trembling on the falling dew,

Like beauty shining through a tear.

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.

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.

SONNET. (It will be noticed that this sonnet has fifteen lines.) WHE forward violet thus did I chide :

thy

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.

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.

MY ONLY JO AND DEARIE 0. WHY cheek is o' the rose’s hue,

T 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.

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

UVELL me, where is fancy bred,

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.

?

When we were bairnies on yon brae,

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

Ours joys su' sweet and mony 0;

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 SHAKSPERL.

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