But the rose was awake all night for your sake, Knowing your promise to me; The lilies and roses were all awake, They sighed for the dawn and thee. IX. Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, Come hither, the dances are done, In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, Queen lily and rose in one; Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls, To the flowers, and be their sun. X. There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate; The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;" And the white rose weeps, "She is late;" The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear," And the lily whispers, "I wait." XI. She is coming, my own, my sweet; Had I lain for a century dead; Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red. TO ALTHEA. WHEN Love with unconfinèd wings The birds that wanton in the air When flowing cups run swiftly round When, linnet-like confinèd, I DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I'll not look for wine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, It would not withered be; Since then it grows and smells, Iswear, Not of itself, but thee, BEN JONSON. THE NIGHT PIECE: TO JULIA. HER eyes the glow-worme lend thee, And the elves also, Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. No Will-o'-th'-Wispe mislight thee, Let not the dark thee cumber, Then, Julia, let me wooe thee, My soule I'll poure into thee. HERRICK. DISDAIN RETURNED. HE that loves a rosy cheek, But a smooth and steadfast mind, LOVE. LOVE is a sickness full of woes, A plant that most with cutting grows, Love is a torment of the mind, And Jove hath made it of a kind More we enjoy it, more it dies; Heigh-ho! THE clouds are flying, the woods are sighing, A maiden is walking the grassy shore, And as the wave breaks with might, with might, She singeth aloud in the darksome night, But a tear is in her troubled eye. For the world feels cold, and the heart gets old, And reflects the bright aspect of Nature no more; Then take back thy child, holy Virgin, to thee! I have plucked the one blossom that hangs on earth's tree, I have lived, and have loved, and die. ANONYMOUS. Through all the land of Xeres and Rode forth bridegroom so brave as The Zegri lady rose not, nor laid her cushion down, Nor came she to the window to gaze But though her eyes dwelt on her "No, no!" she sighs rise, nor lay my cushion down, To gaze upon Andalla with all the gazing town!" nor lay "Why rise ye not, Xarifa Translated from Schiller. THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA. "RISE up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down; Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town! From gay guitar and violin the silver notes are flowing, And the lovely lute doth speak between the trumpet's lordly blowing, And banners bright from lattice light are waving everywhere, And the tall, tall plume of our cousin's bridegroom floats proudly in the air. Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down; Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town! "Arise, arise, Xarifa! I see Andalla's face He bends him to the people with a calm and princely grace; your cushion down Why gaze ye not, Xarifa- with all the gazing town? Hear, hear the trumpet how it swells, and how the people cry: He stops at Zara's palace-gate-why sit ye still, oh, why!" "At Zara's gate stops Zara's mate; in him shall I discover The dark-eyed youth pledged me his truth with tears, and was my lover! I will not rise, with weary eyes, nor lay my cushion down, To gaze on false Andalla with all the gazing town!" LOCKHART. Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird, That wantons thro' the flowering Thou minds me o' departed joys, Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon, To see the rose and woodbine twine; And ilka bird sang o' its luve, And fondly sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree; And my fause luver stole my rose, But, ah! he left the thorn wi' me. BURNS. And the young moon dropped from heaven, And the lights hid one by one. All silently their glances And "Wait," cried the night, and wind, and storm, "Wait till I come to thee!" HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD. HERO TO LEANDER. OH! go not yet my love, And the waves climb high and fast. My heart is warmer surely than the bosom of the main. Thy heart beats through thy rosy limbs, So gladly doth it stir; Thine eye in drops of gladness swims, I have bathed thee with the pleasant myrrh; Thy locks are dripping balm; I'll stay thee with my kisses. No western odors wander On the black and moaning sea, And when thou art dead, Leander, Oh! go not yet, my love, The deep salt wave breaks in above TENNYSON. |