Then I always was too grave, Liked the saddest ballads sung, With that look, besides, we have In our faces who die young. I had died, dear, all the same, Life's long, joyous, jostling game Is too loud for my meek shame. We are so unlike each other, Thou and I, that none could guess We were children of one mother, But for mutual tenderness. Thou art rose-lined from the cold, And meant, verily, to hold Life's pure pleasures manifold. I am pale as crocus grows Close beside a rose-tree's root! Whosoe'er would reach the rose, Treads the crocus underfoot; When I wear the shroud I made, Let the folds lie straight and neat, And the rosemary be spread, That if any friend should come, (To see thee, sweet!) all the room May be lifted out of gloom. And, dear Bertha, let me keep On my hand this little ring, Which at nights, when others sleep, I can still see glittering. Let me wear it out of sight, COME to me, O my Mother! come to me, As a peculiar darling? Lo, the flies O Lord, Thou doest well. I am content. His hands of blood. Let him array himself The snow is round thy dwelling, the white snow, Till all things were fulfilled, and he came forth, A leper with no power but his disease. Why am I from thee, Mother, far from thee? O river in the valley of my home, LORD, I am weeping. As Thou wilt, O Lord, That on the fleck and moult of brutish beasts So, O Lord, let me hold him in my grave THE FAREWELL SIDNEY DOBELL OF A VIRGINIA SLAVE MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTERS SOLD INTO SOUTHERN BONDAGE. GONE, gone, sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone. Gone, gone, sold and gone, Gone, gone, - sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone. Gone, gone, sold and gone, - E'en so- but why the tale reveal Of those whom, year by year unchanged, Brief absence joined anew, to feel, Astounded, soul from soul estranged? At dead of night their sails were filled, To veer, how vain! On, onward strain, But O blithe breeze! and O great seas! Though ne'er that earliest parting past, On your wide plain they join again, Together lead them home at last. One port, methought, alike they sought, - ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH. AE FOND KISS BEFORE WE PART. I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy- O MY Luve's like a red, red rose That's sweetly played in tune. And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry : Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun; I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only Luve ! And fare thee weel awhile! And I will come again, my Luve, ROBERT BURNS. THE KISS, DEAR MAID. THE kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left Till happier hours restore the gift Thy parting glance, which fondly beams, An equal love may see: The tear that from thine eyelid streams Can weep no change in me. I ask no pledge to make me blest Nor need I write to tell the tale I dare not think upon thy vow, And all it promised me, Mary. A time will come with feeling fraught! Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. SIR WALTER SCOTT. TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS. TELL me not, sweet, I am unkinde, Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde, True, a new mistresse now I chase, - Yet this inconstancy is such As you, too, should adore; I could not love thee, deare, so much, Loved I not honor more. RICHARD LOVELACE. BLACK-EYED SUSAN. ALL in the Downs the fleet was moored, "O, where shall I my true-love find? Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true If my sweet William sails among the crew." William, who high upon the yard Rocked with the billow to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard He sighed, and cast his eyes below: The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, And quick as lightning on the deck he stands. So the sweet lark, high poised in air, Shuts close his pinions to his breast If chance his mate's shrill call he hear, And drops at once into her nest :The noblest captain in the British fleet Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet. "O Susan, Susan, lovely dear, My vows shall ever true remain; Let me kiss off that falling tear; We only part to meet again. Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee. "Believe not what the landmen say Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind: They'll tell thee sailors, when away, In every port a mistress find: Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, For Thou art present wheresoe'er I go. ADIEU, ADIEU! OUR DREAM OF LOVE- "If to fair India's coast we sail, |