"Her book of the favorite poet unheeded at her side, She saw the bright noon pale to twilight soon, she saw the gloaming glide." WAITING. CITTING under the birch trees, in the Hearing the birds' gay carol, seeing each glancing wing, Wishing them mute, lest the coming foot were unheard 'mid the sounds of Spring. That came and fitted round; Death, death, and nothing but death, In every sight and sound! "And oh! those maidens young, Who wrought in that dreary room With figures drooping and spectres thin, And cheeks without a bloom; And the Voice that cried: For the pomp of pride, We haste to an early tomb! "For the pomp and pleasure of pride, We toil like Afric slaves, And only to earn a home at last, Where yonder cypress waves;' And then they pointed-I never saw A ground so full of graves! แ And still the coffins came, Coffin after coffin still, A sad and sickening show; Of such a world of woe! "Of the hearts that daily break, "For the blind and crippled were there, And the babe that pined for bread, The naked, alas, that I might have clad, "The sorrow I might have soothed, "Each pleading look that long ago Woe, woe for me, if the past should be "No need of sulphureous lake, No need of fiery coal, But only that crowd of human kind Who wanted pity and dole, In everlasting retrospect Will wring my sinful soul! "Alas! I have walked through life Forgetting that even the sparrow falls "I drank the richest draughts, Fish, and flesh, and fowl, and fruit, But I never remembered the wretched ones "I dressed as the noble dress, In cloth of silver and gold, With silk, and satin, and costly furs, But I never remembered the naked limbs "The wounds I might have healed! But evil is wrought by want of thought, She clasped her fervent hands, And the tears began to stream; And yet, oh yet, that many a dame THOMAS HOOD. And a' the warld to rest are gane, Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride; But saving a croun he had naething else beside; e'e, While my gudeman lies sound by me. to sea, And the croun and the pund were baith for me. He hadna been away a week but only twa, When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa; My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea, And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me. My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin; I toiled night and day, but their bread I couldna win; Auld Rob maintained them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e, Said, "Jennie, for their sakes, oh, marry me!" ODE TO ADVERSITY. AUGHTER of Jove, relentless power, DA Thou tamer of the human breast, With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. Virtue, his darling child, designed, My heart it said nay, for I looked for Jamie What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, back; But the wind it blew high, and the ship, it was a wrack; His ship it was a wrack-why didna Jamie dee? Or why do I live to cry, Wae's me? And from her own, she learned to melt at others' woe. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly Self pleasing Folly's idle brood, With Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, My father urgit sair; my mother didna The summer friend, the flattering foe, By vain Prosperity received; To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. Wisdom, in simple garb arrayed, Immersed in rapturous thought profound, With leaden eye that loves the ground, Dread goddess, lay thy chastening hand! Nor circled with thy vengeful band, To soften, not to wound my heart; I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a The generous spark extinct revive; sin; But I'll do my best a gude wife to be, For auld Robin Gray he is kind to me. LADY ANN LINDSAY. Teach me to love and to forgive; What others are to feel, and know myself a man. BACK ROCK ME TO SLEEP. ACKWARD, turn backward, O Time in Make me a child again, just for to-night! Toil without recompense, tears all in vain ; Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue, Over my heart, in the days that are flown, Fall on your shoulders, again as of old, 0 Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep; Sing, then; and unto my soul it shall seem OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT. Ere slumber's chain hath bound me, The smiles, the tears Of boyhood's years, Now dimmed and gone, Thus in the stilly night, When I remember all And all but he departed! Of other days around me. AFFLICTION. THOMAS MOORE. 'HE bread of bitterness is the food on which men grow to their fullest stature; the waters of bitterness are the debatable ford through which they reach the shores of wisdom; the ashes boldly grasped and eaten without faltering are the price that must be paid for the golden fruit of knowledge. LOUISE DE LA RAME. ('Ouida. "') |