But give the cock a blow
Who did begin our woe!"

ANONYMOUS (Chinese). Translation
of WILLIAM R. ALGER.

THE PARTING OF ROMEO AND JULIET.

JULIET. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near

day:

It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

ROMEO. It was the lark, the herald of the

morn,

No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east : Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.

I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
JULIET. Yon light is not daylight, I know
it, I:

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.
ROMEO. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to
death;

I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I'll say, yon gray is not the morning's eye,
"Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads :
I have more care to stay than will to go ;---
Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.
How is 't, my soul? let's talk, it is not day.
JULIET. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away!
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps.
Some say, the lark makes sweet division;
This doth not so, for she divideth us :

Some say, the lark and loathed toad change

LOCHABER NO MORE.

BYRON.

FAREWELL to Lochaber! and farewell, my Jean, Where heartsome with thee I hae mony day been! For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more, We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more! These tears that I shed they are a' for my dear, And no for the dangers attending on war, Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody shore, Maybe to return to Lochaber no more.

Though hurricanes rise, and rise every wind, They'll ne'er make a tempest like that in my mind; Though loudest of thunder on louder waves roar, That's naething like leaving my love on the shore. To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pained; By ease that's inglorious no fame can be gained; And beauty and love's the reward of the brave, And I must deserve it before I can crave.

Then glory, my Jeany, maun plead my excuse;
Since honor commands me, how can I refuse!
Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee,
And without thy favor I'd better not be.
I gae then, my lass, to win honor and fame,
And if I should luck to come gloriously hame,
I'll bring a heart to thee with love running o'er,
And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more.

ALLAN RAMSAY.

MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME.

NEGRO SONG.

THE sun shines bright in our old Kentucky home;
'Tis summer, the darkeys are gay;
The corn top's ripe and the meadow's in the bloom,
While the birds make music all the day;
The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,
All merry, all happy, all bright;
By'm by hard times comes a knockin' at the door, -
Then, my old Kentucky home, good night!

CHORUS.

Weep no more, my lady; O, 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;
They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon,
On the bench by the old cabin door;
The day goes by, like a shadow o'er the heart,
With sorrow where all was delight;
The time 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.

ANONYMOUS.

FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER.

FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer

For other's weal availed on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky.
"T were vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,

Are in that word-Farewell! - Farewell!

These lips are mute, these eyes are dry:
But in my breast and in my brain
Awake the pangs that pass not by,
The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
Though grief and passion there rebel :
I only know we loved in vain -

1 only feel-Farewell! - Farewell!

BYRON.

FARE THEE WELL! AND IF FOREVER.

FARE thee well! and if forever,
Still forever, fare thee well;

Even though unforgiving, never

'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.

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:

Though my many faults defaced me,
Could no other arm be found
Than the one which once embraced me,
To inflict a cureless wound?

Yet, O yet, thyself deceive not:

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;
Both shall live, but every morrow
Wake us from a widowed bed.

And when thou wouldst solace gather,
When our child's first accents flow,
Wilt thou teach her to say "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,
Then thy heart will softly tremble
With a pulse yet true to me.

All my faults perchance thou knowest,
All my madness none can know;
All my hopes, where'er thou goest,
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.

WHEN we two parted

In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,

To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss :
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this!

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow;
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee
Who knew thee too well :
Long, long shall I rue thee
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met:

In silence I grieve

That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee

After long years,

How should I greet thee?

With silence and tears.

FAREWELL THOU ART TOO DEAR FAREWELL! thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou know'st thy estimate: The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; My bonds in thee are all determinate. For how do I hold thee but by thy granting! And for that riches where is my deserving? The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, And so my patent back again is swerving. Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing,

Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking; So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, Comes home again, on better judgment making. Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter; In sleep a king, but, waking, no such matter.

SHAKESPEARE

AN EARNEST SUIT

TO HIS UNKIND MISTRESS NOT TO FORSAKE HIM

AND wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay say nay! for shame!
To save thee from the blame
Of all my grief and grame.
And wilt thou leave me thus?

Say nay! say nay!

And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath loved thee so long,
In wealth and woe among?
And is thy heart so strong
As for to leave me thus ?
Say nay! say nay!

And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath given thee my heart,
Never for to depart,

Neither for pain nor smart?
And wilt thou leave me thus ?
Say nay! say nav!

And wilt thou leave me thus,
And have no more pity
Of him that loveth thee?
Alas! thy cruelty!

And wilt thou leave me thus?

Say nay! say nay!

SIR THOMAS WYAT