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As the flight of a river

That flows to the sea, My soul rushes ever

In tumult to thee. A twofold existence

I am where thou art; My heart in the distance

Beats close to thy heart.
Look up, I am near thee,

I gaze on thy face;
I see thee, I hear thee,

I feel thine embrace.
As a magnet's control on

The steel it draws to it, Is the charm of thy soul on

The thoughts that pursue it. And absence but brightens

The eyes that I miss, And custom but heightens

The spell of thy kiss. It is not from duty

Tho' that may be owedIt is not from beauty,

Tho' that be bestowed ;
But all that I care for,

And all that I know,
Is that, without wherefore,

I worship thee so.

Thro’ granite as breaketh

A tree to the ray,
As a dreamer forsaketh

The grief of the day.
My soul in its fever

Escapes unto thee;
O dream to the griever,

O light to the tree !
A twofold existence

I am where thou art;
Hark, hear in the distance

The beat of my heart !

Sir E. Bulwer Lytton.


Thy voice is heard thro' rolling drums,

That beat to battle where he stands; Thy face across his fancy comes,

And gives the battle to his hands; A moment, while the trumpets blow,

He sees his brood about thy knee; The next, like fire he meets the foe,

And strikes him dead for thine and thee.

A, Tennyson.


Oh, why that falling tear?
Cheer up, my darling, cheer!
Health will call again, my dear,
When the cuckoo comes.
When windy March is gone,
With his heart as cold as stone,
In the bonny, merry moon,
When the cuckoo comes.

The streams, like polished glass,
Tinkle music as they pass,
To each merry milking lass,
When the cuckoo comes.
O, then to seek the glade,
And to linger in the shade,
In the bonny, merry moon,
When the cuckoo comes !

I will tell a tale to thee
Underneath the hawthorn-tree,
Where you told your love to me,
When the cuckoo comes.
And, forgetting present pain,
We will dream the past again,
In the bonny, merry moon,
When the cuckoo comes.

Edward Capern. LXXVI.


Now the rite is duly done;

Now the word is spoken ; And the spell has made us one

Which may ne'er be broken :
Rest we, dearest, in our home,

Roam we o'er the heather,
We shall rest, and we shall roam,

Shall we not? together.

From this hour the summer rose

Sweeter breathes to charm us; From this hour the winter snows

Lighter fall to harm us : Fair or foul-on land or sea

Come the wind or weather, Best and worst, whate'er they be,

We shall share together.

Death, who friend from friend can part,

Brother rend from brother,
Shall but link us, heart and heart,

Closer to each other:
We will call his anger play,

Deem his dart a feather,
When we meet him on our way

Hand in hand together.

W. M. Praed. LXXVII.


And on her lover's arm she leant,

And round her waist she felt it fold, And far across the hills they went

In that new world which is the old : Across the hills, and far away

Beyond their utmost purple rim, And deep into the dying day

The happy princess followed him. “I'd sleep another hundred years,

O love, for such another kiss ;". “O wake for ever, love,” she hears,

O love, 'twas such as this and this." And o'er them many a sliding star

And many a merry wind was borne, And streamed thro' many a golden bar,

The twilight melted into morn. “O eyes long laid in happy sleep!"

“ happy sleep, that lightly Red !" “O happy kiss, that woke thy sleep!”

O love, thy kiss would wake the dead !" And o'er them many a flowing range

Of vapour buoyed the cresent-bark, And, 'rapt thro' many a rosy change,

The twilight died into the dark. " A hundred summers! can it be?

And whither goest thou, tell me where ?" O seek my father's court with me,

For there are greater wonders there.” And o'er the hills, and far away,

Beyond their utmost purple rim, Beyond the night, across the day,

Through all the world she followed him.

A. Tennyson.

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