Pure and True and Tender.

Yes, we shall meet ;

And therefore let our searching be the stronger ;
Dark ways of life shall not divide us longer,
Nor doubt, nor danger, sweet.

Therefore I bear

This winter-tide as bravely as I may,
Patiently waiting for the bright spring day
That cometh with thee, dear.

'Tis the May light

That crimsons all the quiet college gloom;
May it shine softly in thy sleeping-room
And so, dear wife, good-night!

Edwin Arnold.

PURE AND TRUE AND TENDER.

PURE

and true and tender

My love must be:

Handsome, tall, and slender

My love may be ;

But if the first be his

Who loveth me,

My heart will rest in bliss

And constancy.

13

With manly words and daring
My love must woo;

With polished tones and bearing
My love may woo:

But ever dear and sweet

The words will be

My lover's lips repeat
For only me.

H.

A VOICE BY THE CEDAR TREE.

A

VOICE by the cedar tree,

In the meadow under the Hall!
She is singing an air that is known to me,
A passionate ballad, gallant and gay,
A martial song, like a trumpet's call!
Singing alone in the morning of life,
In the happy morning of life and of May,
Singing of men that in battle array,
Ready in heart and ready in hand,
March with banner and bugle and fife
To the death, for their native land.

Maud, with her exquisite face,

And wild voice pealing up to the sunny sky,

· And feet like sunny gems on an English green,

At the Church Gate.

15

Maud, in the light of her youth and her grace, Singing of Death, and of Honor that cannot die, Till I well could weep for a time so sordid and mean, And myself so languid and base.

Silence, beautiful voice!

Be still, for you only trouble the mind
With a joy in which I cannot rejoice,
A glory I shall not find.

Still! I will hear you no more,

For your sweetness hardly leaves me a choice
But to move to the meadow and fall before
Her feet on the meadow grass, and adore,
Not her, who is neither courtly nor kind,
Not her, not her, but a voice.

Alfred Tennyson.

AT THE CHURCH GATE.

ALTHOUGH I enter not,

Yet round about the spot

Oft-times I hover:

And near the sacred gate,
With longing eyes I wait,
Expectant of her.

The Minster bell tolls out
Above the city's rout,

And noise and humming:
They've hushed the Minster bell;
The organ 'gins to swell:

She's coming, she's coming!

My lady comes at last,

Timid, and stepping fast,

And hastening hither,

With modest eyes downcast :
She comes - she's here—she's past·
May heaven go with her!

Kneel undisturbed, fair saint!
Pour out your praise or plaint
Meekly and duly;

I will not enter there

To sully your pure prayer
With thoughts unruly.

But suffer me to pace
Round the forbidden place,
Lingering a minute

Like outcast spirits who wait
And see through heaven's gate

Angels within it.

William Makepeace Thackeray.

A Serenade.

17

A SERENADE.

H! County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,

The orange-flower perfumes the bower,
The breeze is on the sea.

The lark, his lay who trilled all day,
Sits hushed his partner nigh;

Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour,
But where is County Guy?

The village maid steals through the shade,

Her shepherd's suit to hear;

To Beauty shy, by lattice high,
Sings high-born Cavalier.

The star of Love, all stars above,

Now reigns o'er earth and sky,

And high and low the influence know
But where is County Guy?

Sir Walter Scott.