My longing arms I have to check and chide,
Or they would clasp you closely to my side.
My eager, yearning lips I must restrain,
And if you knew the passion of my soul,
Yourself no longer you would thus control.
My love so infinite, and yours so sweet,
Would bring you all-confessing to my feet.
I would not-oh, I would not have you know;
God's mercy will not let me tempt you so;
And so forever we must stand apart,
Heart always vainly yearning after heart;
And all our mission to each other be
Still unfulfilled, to all eternity;
Unless the time shall come-above, below-
When I may tell you that I love you so.
In the hour I first beheld thee,
Soft thy kindly glances fell;
And my heart bowed down before thee,
As beneath a magic spell.
Since that time like some sweet phantom,
In my home thy form doth rise,
And where'er my sad gaze wanders
There I meet thy haunting eyes.
Oh, those eyes! their lovely shadow
Stole the light of life away,
And my heart in languid dreaming,
Idly pines from day to day.
Vain the evening's dewy coolness
Vain the calm of midnight skies;
E'en with darkness closing round me,
Still I see those haunting eyes.
CAROLINE NORTON.
PALABRAS CARINOSAS.
Good night! I have to say good night
To such a host of peerless things!
Good night unto the fragile hand
All queenly with its weight of rings;`
Good night to fond, uplifted eyes;
Good night to chestnut braids of hair,
Good night unto the perfect mouth,
And all the sweetness nestled there.
The snowy hand detains me, then
I'll have to say good night again.
But there will come a time, my love,
When, if I read the stars aright,
I shall not linger by the porch
With my adieus. Till then, good night!
You wish the time were now? And I,
You do not blush to wish it so?
You would have blushed yourself to death
To own so much a year ago—
What! both those snowy hands? Ah, then I'll have to say good night again.
(Aimer, aimer, c'est à vivre
To love, to love, this is to live.)
Teach you French? I will, my dear!
Sit down and con your lesson here.
What did Adam say to Eve?
Aimer, aimer, c'est à vivre.
Don't pronounce the last word long;
Make it short to suit the song:
Rhyme it to your flowing sleeve-
Aimer, aimer, c'est à vivre.
Sleeve, I said, but what's the harm
If I really meant your arm?
Mine shall twine it (by your leave)—
Aimer, aimer, c'est à vivre.
Learning French is full of slips;
Do as I do with the lips.
Here's the right way, you perceive-
Aimer, aimer, c'est à vivre.
French is always spoken best
Breathing deeply from the chest ;
Darling, does your bosom heave?
Aimer, aimer, c'est à vivre.
Now, my dainty little sprite,
Have I taught your lesson right?
Then what pay shall I receive?
Aimer, aimer, c'est à vivre.
Will you think me overbold
If I linger to be told
Whether you yourself believe
Aimer, aimer, c'est à vivre?
Pretty pupil, when you say
All this French to me to-day
Do you mean it, or deceive?
Aimer, aimer, c'est à vivre.
Tell me, may I understand,
When I press your little hand,
That our hearts together cleave?
Aimer, aimer, c'est à vivre.
Have you in your tresses, room
For some orange buds to bloom?
May I such a garland weave?
Aimer, aimer, c'est à vivre.
Or, if I presume too much,
Teaching French by sense of touch,
Grant me pardon and reprieve-
Aimer, aimer, c'est à vivre.
Sweetheart, no! you cannot go !
Let me sit and hold you so;
Adam did the same to Eve-
Aimer, aimer c'est à vivre.
Midnight past! Not a sound of aught
Through the silent house but the wind at his
I sat by the dying fire and thought
Of the dear dead woman upstairs.
Nobody with me my watch to keep
But the friend of my bosom, the man I love; And grief had sent him fast to sleep
In the chamber up above.
Nobody else in the country place
All round, that knew of my loss beside, But the good young priest with the Raphael face, Who confessed her when she died.
On her cold, dead bosom my portrait lies,
Which next to her heart she used to wear,
Haunting it o'er with her tender eyes
When my own face was not there.
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