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The patient grief and endurance of Absence; while the tapestry woven by day stands on the frame to be unraveled by night, as the loyal wife puts off her suitors. Painting by RUDOLPH VON DEUTSCH.

POEMS OF SORROW AND

CONSOLATION.

I.

DISAPPOINTMENT IN LOVE.

THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE.

66

FROM MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM," ACT I. SC. 1.

FOR aught that ever I could read,

Could ever hear by tale or history,

The course of true love never did run smooth:

But, either it was different in blood,

Or else misgraffèd in respect of years,

Or else it stood upon the choice of friends;
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
Making it momentary as a sound,

Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,

That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
And ere a man hath power to say,-Behold!
The jaws of darkness do devour it up:

So quick bright things come to confusion.

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SHAKESPEARE.

LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE.

LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE,

Of me you shall not win renown;
You thought to break a country heart
For pastime, ere you went to town.
At me you smiled, but unbeguiled
I saw the snare, and I retired:
The daughter of a hundred Earls,
You are not one to be desired.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

I know you proud to bear your name; Your pride is yet no mate for mine,

Too proud to care from whence I came. Nor would I break for your sweet sake A heart that dotes on truer charms. A simple maiden in her flower

Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

Some meeker pupil you must find,
For were you queen of all that is,

I could not stoop to such a mind.
You sought to prove how I could love,
And my disdain is my reply.
The lion on your old stone gates
Is not more cold to you than I.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

You put strange memories in my head.