Now folds the lily all her sweet-While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps. man: He gain in sweetness and in moral height, But Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world; of cape: O too fond, when have I an swered thee? Ask me no more. Queen lily and rose in one; Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls, To the flowers, and be their sun. There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate; The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;" And the white rose weeps, "She is late;" The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;" And the lily whispers, "I wait." She is coming, my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her, and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed. My dust would hear her, and beat, Had I lain for a century dead: Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red. [From Maud.] GO NOT, HAPPY DAY, Go not, happy day, From the shining fields, Go not, happy day, Till the maiden yields. Rosy is the West, Rosy is the South, Roses are her cheeks, And a rose her mouth. When the happy Yes Over seas at rest, Blush it through the West, Till the red man dance By his red cedar-tree. And the red man's babe Leap, beyond the sea. Blush from West to East, Blush from East to West, Till the West is East, Blush it through the West. Rosy is the West, Rosy is the South, Roses are lier cheeks, And a rose her mouth. THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. FULL knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sighing: Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow, His face is growing sharp and thin. And waiteth at the door. There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, And a new face at the door, my friend, A new face at the door. A WELCOME TO ALEXANDRA. [love. SEA-KINGS' daughter from over the He lieth still; he doth not move; So long as you have been with us, He frothed his bumpers to the brim; He was a friend to me. Old year; you shall not die: He was full of joke and jest, His son and heir doth ride post-haste, Every one for his own. The night is starry and cold, my friend, And the new year, blithe and bold, my friend, Comes up to take his own. How hard he breathes! over the snow Tis nearly twelve o'clock. Shake hands before you die. |