1

Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not But those lips that echoed the sounds of mine

knowing,

Are as cold as that lonely river;
And that eye, that beautiful spirit's shrine,
Has shrouded its fires forever.

But, with her heart, if not her ear,
The old loved voice she seemed to hear:
"I wait to meet thee: be of cheer,
For all is well!"

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

FROM “ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL,” ACT I. SC. I.

TO LUCASTA.

I AM undone there is no living, none,
If Bertram be away. It were all one,
That I should love a bright particular star,
And think to wed it, he is so above me :
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
The hind that would be mated by the lion
Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague,
To see him every hour; to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,

IF to be absent were to be
Away from thee;

Or that, when I am gone,

You or I were alone;

Then, my Lucasta, might I crave
Pity from blustering wind or swallowing wave. In our heart's table, heart too capable

Of every line and trick of his sweet favor:
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relics.

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;
For, whether he will let me pass
Or no,
I'm still as happy as I was.

Though seas and lands be 'twixt us both,

Our faith and troth,

Like separated souls,

All time and space controls :
Above the highest sphere we meet,
Unseen, unknown; and greet as angels greet.

So, then, we do anticipate

Our after-fate,

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,
I dearly like the west ;

For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best.

There wild woods grow, and rivers row,
And monie a hill 's between ;

But day and night my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.

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;
There's not a bonnie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green;
There's not a bonnie bird that sings,
But minds me of my Jean.

ROBERT BURNS.

LOVE'S MEMORY.

* The points of the compass.

I used to wauk in the morning
Wi' the loud sang o' the lark,
And the whistling o' the ploughman lads,
As they gaed to their wark;

I used to wear the bit young lambs

Frae the tod and the roaring stream;
But the warld is changed, and a' thing now
To me seems like a dream.

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,
As evening shadows stretch o'er moor and dell;
When the wild bee hath ceased her busy humming,
And silence hangs on all things like a spell !

THE WIFE TO HER HUSBAND.

O, how or by what means may I contrive
To bring the hour that brings thee back more
near?

LINGER not long. Home is not home without How may I teach my drooping hope to live

thee:

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,
In worthy deeds, each moment that is told
While thou, beloved one! art far from me.

Bethink thee, can the mirth of thy friends, For thee I will arouse my thoughts to try
though dear,
Compensate for the grief thy long delaying
Costs the fond heart that sighs to have thee
here?

All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains;
For thy dear sake I will walk patiently
Through these long hours, nor call their min-
utes pains.

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.