She begged him lay her bundled sticks So down he set her brushwood freight And now the memory o'er her came From many a summer hill and glen, But lo! the bundle of dead wood Had burst to blossom! and now stood Filling the air with odorous light! Then spake her traveler-friend: "Dear Soul, Will never pass the o'erladen by. My feet are on the mountain steep; My willing shoulder still is there! To make her favorite altar bright, Thomas Buchanan Read. A PETITION TO TIME Touch us gently, Time! Let us glide adown thy stream Gently, as we sometimes glide Humble voyagers are we, Husband, wife, and children three (One is lost,- an angel fled To the azure overhead!) Touch us gently, Time! We've not proud nor soaring wings: Our ambition, our content, Lies in simple things. Humble voyagers are we, O'er Life's dim unsounded sea, Seeking only some calm clime; Touch us gently, gentle Time! Bryan Waller Procter. ANNABEL LEE It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden lived, whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden, she lived with no other thought 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 wingéd 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 The angels, not 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 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 feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. And so, all the night-tide I lie down by the side In her tomb by the sounding sea. -Edgar Allan Poe. How, erect, at the outermost gates With his feet on the ladder of light, The Angels of Wind and of Fire With the song's irresistible stress; With eyes unimpassioned and slow, To sounds that ascend from below; From the spirits on earth that adore, From the hearts that are broken with losses, And he gathers the prayers as he stands, It is but a legend, I know,— Of the ancient Rabbinical lore; But haunts me and holds me the more. When I look from my window at night, All throbbing and panting with stars, And the legend, I feel, is a part - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. WHEN THE KYE COME HAME Come, all ye jolly shepherds, That whistle through the glen! I'll tell ye o' a secret That courtiers dinna ken: What is the greatest bliss That the tongue o' man can name? 'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie When the kye come hame. When the kye come hame, When the kye come hame, 'Tween the gloomin' an' the mirk, When the kye come hame. 'Tis not beneath the burgonet, Nor yet beneath the crown; 'Tis not on couch o' velvet, |