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Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not But those lips that echoed the sounds of mine
Are as cold as that lonely river;
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.
But, with her heart, if not her ear,
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.
FROM “ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL,” ACT I. SC. I.
I AM undone there is no living, none,
IF to be absent were to be
Or that, when I am gone,
You or I were alone;
Then, my Lucasta, might I crave
Of every line and trick of his sweet favor:
But I'll not sigh one blast or gale
To swell my sail,
Or pay a tear to 'suage
The foaming blue-god's rage;
Though seas and lands be 'twixt us both,
Our faith and troth,
Like separated souls,
All time and space controls :
So, then, we do anticipate
And are alive i̇' th' skies,
If thus our lips and eyes
Can speak like spirits unconfined
In heaven, — their earthly bodies left behind.
COLONEL RICHARD LOVELACE.
I LOVE MY JEAN.
OF a' the airts* the wind can blaw,
For there the bonnie lassie lives,
The lassie I lo'e best.
There wild woods grow, and rivers row,
But day and night my fancy's flight
I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair ;
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air;
* The points of the compass.
I used to wauk in the morning
I used to wear the bit young lambs
Frae the tod and the roaring stream;
Its dearest tokens do but make me mourn. O, let its memory, like a chain about thee, Gently compel and hasten thy return!
Linger not long. Though crowds should woo thy staying,
As night grows dark and darker on the hill! How shall I weep, when I can watch no longer! Ah! art thou absent, art thou absent still?
Linger not long. How shall I watch thy coming,
THE WIFE TO HER HUSBAND.
O, how or by what means may I contrive
LINGER not long. Home is not home without How may I teach my drooping hope to live
Until that blessèd time, and thou art here?
Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin
Of casting from me God's great gift of time? Shall I, these mists of memory locked within, Leave and forget life's purposes sublime?
I'll tell thee; for thy sake I will lay hold
Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee,
Bethink thee, can the mirth of thy friends, For thee I will arouse my thoughts to try
All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains;
I will this dreary blank of absence make
A noble task-time; and will therein strive To follow excellence, and to o'ertake
More good than I have won since yet I live.