« ElőzőTovább »
ADIEU, ADIEU ! OUR DREAM OF LOVE, “If to fair India's coast we sail,
Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, ADIEU, adieu ! our dream of love
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, Was far too sweet to linger long ;
Thy skin is ivory so white. Such hopes may bloom in bowers above,
Thus every beauteous object that I view But here they mock the fond and young.
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. We met in hope, we part in tears ! Yet 0, 't is sadly sweet to know
“Though battle call me from thy arms, That life, in all its future years,
Let not my pretty Susan mourn ; Can reach us with no heavier blow !
Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms
William shall to his dear return. The hour is come, the spell is past;
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, Far, far from thee, my only love,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye." Youth's earliest hope, and manhood's last, My darkened spirit turns to rove.
The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
The sails their swelling bosom spread ; Adieu, adieu! 0, dull and dread
No longer must she stay aboard ; Sinks on the ear that parting knell !
They kissed, she sighed, he hung his heail. Hope and the dreams of love lie dead, Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land ; To them and thee, farewell, farewell ! “Allieu !" she cries; and waved her lily hand.
THOMAS K. HERVEY.
Our Italy invokes the youth
To die if need be. Still there's room,
Since twice the lilies were in blooin
And many a plighted maid and wife
And mother, who can say since then “My country," cannot say through life
“My son,” “my spouse,” “my flower of men,' And not weep dumb again.
Heroic males the country bears,
But daughters give up more than sons.
You flash your souls out with the guns,
to feel you may not come, ... To hear the door-latch stir and clink Yet no more you,... nor sink.
Dear God! when Italy is one
And perfected from bound to bound, ...
By one grave in 't! as one small wound
What then? If love's delight must end,
At least we 'll clear its truth from flaws.
Now take my sweetest without pause,
We'll both be worthy. Let her show
Not sparing life, nor Giulio,
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
HERO TO LEANDER.
0, Go not yet, my love,
The night is dark and vast;
And the waves climb high and fast.
Lest thy kiss should be the last.
O kiss me ere we part;
But give the cock a blow Grow closer to my heart.
Who did begin our woe!”
ANONYMOUS (Chinese). Translation My heart is warmer surely than the bosom of the
of WILLIAM R. ALGER. main. O joy ! O bliss of blisses !
My heart of hearts art thou. Come, bathe me with thy kisses,
THE PARTING OF ROMEO AND JULIET. My eyelids and my brow. Hark how the wild rain hisses,
JULIET. Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near And the loud sea roars below.
It was the nightingale, and not the lark, Thy heart beats through thy rosy limbs, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; So gladly doth it stir ;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree : Thine eye in drops of gladness siims. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
I have bathed thee with the pleasant myrrh; ROMEO. It was the lark, the herald of the Thy locks are dripping balm ;
morn, Thou shalt not wander hence to-night, No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks I'll stay thee with my kisses.
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east : To-night the roaring brine
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Will rend thy golden tresses ;
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. The ocean with the morrow light
I must be gone and live, or stay and die. Will be both blue and calm ;
JULIET. Yon light is not daylight, I know And the billow will embrace thee with a kiss as it, I : soft as mine.
It is some meteor, that the sun exhales,
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua :
Therefore stay yet,
thou need'st not be gone. And when thou art dead, Leander,
ROMEO. Let me be ta’en, let me be put to My soul must follow thee !
death ; 0, go not yet, my love,
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I'll say, yon gray is not the morning's eye, The deep salt wave breaks in above ”T is but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Those marble steps below.
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The turret-stairs are wet
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads : That lead into the sea.
I have more care to stay than will to go ;Leander ! go not yet.
Come, death, and welcome ! Juliet wills it so. The pleasant stars have set :
How is’t, my soul ? let's talk, it is not day. 0, go not, go not yet,
Juliet. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away!
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
This doth not so, for she divideth us :
the lark and loathéd toad change
eyes : She says, “The cock crows, — hark !” 0, now I would they had changed voices too! He says, “No! still 't is dark.”
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,
Hunting thee hence, with hunts-up-to the day,
- more dark
and dark our woes.
JULIET. Then, window, let day in, and let
ROMEO. Farewell, farewell ! one kiss, and I 'll He says, The morning star
(Descends.) Climbs the horizon's bar."
JULIET. Art thou gone so? my love ! my
lord ! my friend ! She says, “Then quick depart :
I must hear from thee every day i' the hour, Alas! you now must start ;
For in a minute there are many days :
The sun shines bright in our old Kentucky home;
'T is summer, the darkeys are gay ; ADIEU, ADIEU ! MY NATIVE SHORE. The corn top's ripe and the meadow's in the bloom,
While the birds make music all the day; Adieu, adieu ! my native shore
The young folks roll on the little cabin floor, Fades o'er the waters blue;
All merry, all happy, all bright; The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, By'm by hard timescomesa knockin' at the door, And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Then, iny old Kentucky home, good night!
Weep no more, my lady ; 0, weep no more
to-day ! We'll sing one song for my old Kentucky
home, For our old Kentucky home far away.
They hunt no more for the possum and the coon,
On the meadow, the hill, and the shore ;
On the bench by the old cabin door ;
With sorrow where all was delight; l'he tiine has come, when the darkeys have to part, Then, my old Kentucky home, good night!
Weep no more, my lady, &c. The head must bow, and the back will have to bend,
Wherever the darkey may go ; A few more days, and the troubles all will end,
In the field where the sugar-cane grow ; A few more days to tote the weary load,
No matter it will never be light; A few more days till we totter on the road, Then, my old Kentucky home, good night!
Weep no more, my lady, &c.
Would that breast were bared before thee
Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thee
Which thou ne'er canst know again : Would that breast, by thee glanced over,
Every inmost thought could show ! Then thou wouldst at last discover
'T was not well to spurn it so. Though the world for this commend thee,
Though it smile upon the blow, Even its praises must offend thee,
Founded on another's woe :
Could no other arm be found,
To inflict a cureless wound !
Love may sink by slow decay, But by sudden wrench, believe not
Hearts can thus be torn away ; Still thine own its life retaineth, –
Still must mine, though bleeding, beat ; And the undying thought which paineth
Is — that we no more may meet. These are words of deeper sorrow
Than the wail above the dead ;
Wake us from a widowed bed.
When our child's first accents flow,
“ Father," Though his care she must forego ? When her little hands shall press thee,
When her lip to thine is pressed, Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,
Think of him thy love had blessed ! Should her lineaments resemble
Those thou nevermore mayst see,
With a pulse yet true to me.
All my madness none can know ;
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 't is done ; all words are idle,
Words from me are vainer still ; But the thoughts we cannot bridle
Force their way without the will.