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Annabel Lee
It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child, and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea ;
But we loved with a love that was more than love,

I and my Annabel Lee ;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsmen came

And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,

Went envying her and me;
Yes !-that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we

Of many far wiser than we;
And neither the angels in heaven above,

Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I see the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

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And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling--my darling-my life and my bride

In her sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

PoE.

To Mary

IF I had thought thou couldst have died,

I might not weep for thee;
But I forgot, when by thy side,

That thou couldst mortal be:
It never through my mind had past

The time would e'er be o'er,
And I on thee should look my last,

And thou shouldst smile no more !
And still upon that face I look,

And think 'twill smile again ;
And still the thought I will not brook

That I must look in vain !
But when I speak—thou dost not say,

What thou ne'er left'st unsaid ;
And now I feel, as well I may,

Sweet Mary! thou art dead.
If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art,

All cold and all serene-
I still might press thy silent heart,

And where thy smiles have been !
While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have,

Thou seemest still mine own;
But there I lay thee in thy grave-

And I am now alone !
I do not think, where'er thou art,

Thou hast forgotten me ;
And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart,

In thinking too of thee :
Yet there was round thee such a dawn

Of light ne'er seen before,
As fancy never could have drawn,
And never can restore !

C. WOLFE.

Twist ye, Twine ye

Twist ye, twine ye ! even so,
Mingle shades of joy and woe,
Hope, and fear, and peace, and strife,
In the thread of human life.

While the mystic twist is spinning,
And the infant's life beginning,
Dimly seen through twilight bending,
Lo, what varied shapes attending !
Passions wild, and follies vain,
Pleasures soon exchanged for pain ;
Doubt, and jealousy, and fear,
In the magic dance appear.
Now they wax, and now they dwindle,
Whirling with the whirling spindle.
Twist ye, twine ye ! even so,
Mingle human bliss and woe.

Scott.

To Lucasta, on going to the Wars

T'ELL me not (sweet) I am unkind,

That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,

To war and arms I fly.

True : a new mistress now I chase,

The first foe in the field ;
And with a stronger faith embrace

A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such,

As you too shall adore ;
I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
Lov'd I not Honour more.

COLONEL LOVELACE.

Fa

The Demon Lover

'O WHERE have you been, my long, long love,

This long seven years and mair?' 'O I'm come to seek my former vows

Ye granted me before.'
'O hold your tongue of your former vows,

For they will breed sad strife ;
O hold your tongue of your former vows,

For I am become a wife.'
He turned him right and round about,

And the tear blinded his e'e :
'I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground

If it had not been for thee.
' I might hae had a king's daughter,

Far, far beyond the sea ;
I might have had a king's daughter,

Had it not been for love othee.'
'If ye might have had a king's daughter,

Yer sel ye had to blame;
Ye might have taken the king's daughter,

For ye kend that I was nane.'
"O faulse are the vows o' womankind,

But fair is their faulse bodie ;
I never wad hae trodden on Irish ground,

Had it not been for love othee.
'If I was to leave my husband dear,

And my two babes also,
O what have you to take me to,

If with you I should go ?'
* I hae seven ships upon the sea,

The eighth brought me to land ;
With four-and-twenty bold mariners,

And music on every hand.'
She has taken up her two little babes,

Kissed them baith cheek and chin ; “O fare ye weel, my ain twa babes,

For I'll never see you again.'

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She set her foot upon the ship,

No mariners could she belold; But the sails were o' the taffetie

And the masts o' the beaten gold.

She had not sailed a league, a league,

A league but barely three,
When dismal grew his countenance,

And drumlie grew his e'e.

The masts, that were like the beaten gold,

Bent not on the heaving seas ;
But the sails, that were o' the taffetie,

Fill'd not in the east land breeze.

They had not sailed a league, a league,

A league but barely three, Until she espied his cloven foot,

And she wept right bitterlie. "O hold your tongue of your weeping,' says he,

'Of your weeping now let me be ; I will show you how the lilies grow

On the banks of Italy.

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• O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,

That the sun shines sweetly on?' 'Oyon are the hills of heaven,' he said,

Where you will never win.' 'O whaten a mountain is yon,' she said,

* All so dreary wi' frost and snow ?' Oyon is the mountain of hell,' he cried, • Where

you

and I will go.'

And aye when she turn'd her round about,

Aye taller he seemed to be ;
Until that the tops o' the gallant ship

Nae taller were than he.

The clouds grew dark, and the wind grew loud,

And the leven filled her e'e ;
And waesome wail'd the snow-white sprites

Upon the gurlie sea.

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