I THOUGHT our love at full, but I did err;
Ah, weary bird! thou wilt not fly again :
Thy wings are clipped, thou canst no more de
Thy nest is builded in my heart!
The silver phantom of the perfect sphere, Held in its bosom: in one glory now Our lives united shine, and many a year Not the sweet moon of bridal only One lustre, ever at the full, shall be : One pure and rounded light, one planet whole, One life developed, one completed soul ! For I in thee, and thou in me, Unite our cloven halves of destiny.
God knew his chosen time.
Joy's wreath drooped o'er mine eyes; I could not He bade me slowly ripen to my prime,
That sorrow in our happy world must be Love's deepest spokesman and interpreter ? But, as a mother feels her child first stir Under her heart, so felt I instantly Deep in my soul another bond to thee Thrill with that life we saw depart from her; O mother of our angel child! twice dear! Death knits as well as parts, and still, I wis, Her tender radince shall infold us here, Even as the light, borne up by inward bliss, Threads the void glooms of space without a fear, To print on farthest stars her pitying kiss.
"It was our wedding-day
A month ago," dear heart, I hear you say. If months, or years, or ages since have passed, I know not: I have ceased to question Time. I only know that once there pealed a chime Of joyous bells, and then I held you fast, And all stood back, and none my right denied, And forth we walked the world was free and wide Before us. Since that day
I count my life: the Past is washed away.
It was no dream, that vow:
It was the voice that woke me from a dream, A happy dream, I think; but I am waking now, And drink the splendor of a sun supreme That turns the mist of former tears to gold. Within these arms I hold
The fleeting promise, chased so long in vain :
THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS.
THE day returns, my bosom burns,
The blissful day we twa did meet; Though winter wild in tempest toiled, Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. Than a' the pride that loads the tide, And crosses o'er the sultry line, Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes, Heaven gave me more; it made thee mine.
While day and night can bring delight, Or nature aught of pleasure give, While joys above my mind can move,
For thee and thee alone I live; When that grim foe of life below
Comes in between to make us part, The iron hand that breaks our band, It breaks my bliss, it breaks my heart.
THE POET'S BRIDAL-DAY SONG.
O, MY love 's like the steadfast sun, Or streams that deepen as they run; Nor hoary hairs, nor forty years, Nor moments between sighs and tears, Nor nights of thought, nor days of pain, Nor dreams of glory dreamed in vain,
Nor mirth, nor sweetest song that flows
To sober joys and soften woes,
Can make my heart or fancy flee,
One moment, my sweet wife, from thee.
Even while I muse, I see thee sit In maiden bloom and matron wit; Fair, gentle as when first I sued, Ye seem, but of sedater mood; Yet my heart leaps as fond for thee
As when, beneath Arbigland tree,
We stayed and wooed, and thought the moon
Set on the sea an hour too soon;
Or lingered mid the falling dew,
When looks were fond and words were few.
Though I see smiling at thy feet Five sons and ae fair daughter sweet, And time, and care, and birthtime woes Have dimmed thine eye and touched thy rose, To thee, and thoughts of thee, belong Whate'er charms me in tale or song. When words descend like dews, unsought, With gleams of deep, enthusiast thought, And fancy in her heaven flies free,
They come, my love, they come from thee.
O, when more thought we gave, of old, To silver, than some give to gold, 'T was sweet to sit and ponder o'er How we should deck our humble bower; 'T was sweet to pull, in hope, with thee, The golden fruit of fortune's tree ; And sweeter still to choose and twine A garland for that brow of thine, A song-wreath which may grace my Jean, While rivers flow, and woods grow green.
At times there come, as come there ought, Grave moments of sedater thought, When fortune frowns, nor lends our night One gleam of her inconstant light; And hope, that decks the peasant's bower, Shines like a rainbow through the shower; O then I see, while seated nigh,
A mother's heart shine in thine eye, And proud resolve and purpose meek, Speak of thee more than words can speak. I think this wedded wife of mine, The best of all that's not divine.
THE POET'S SONG TO HIS WIFE.
How many summers, love, Have I been thine ?
How many days, thou dove, Hast thou been mine?
IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE, MY LOVE
IF thou wert by my side, my love, How fast would evening fail In green Bengala's palmy grove, Listening the nightingale!
If thou, my love, wert by my side, My babies at my knee, How gayly would our pinnace glide O'er Gunga's mimic sea !
I miss thee at the dawning gray, When, on our deck reclined, In careless ease my limbs I lay And woo the cooler wind.
I miss thee when by Gunga's stream My twilight steps I guide,
But most beneath the lamp's pale beam I miss thee from my side.
I spread my books, my pencil try, The lingering noon to cheer, But miss thy kind, approving eye, Thy meek, attentive ear.
But when at morn and eve the star Beholds me on my knee,
I feel, though thou art distant far, Thy prayers ascend for me.
Then on! then on! where duty leads,
My course be onward still,
O'er broad Hindostan's sultry meads,
O'er bleak Almorah's hill.
As sweet your face might be that day as now it is, 't is true;
But did I know your heart as well when this old ring was new ?
JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. JOHN ANDERSON, my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither. Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go : And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo.
O partner of my gladness, wife, what care, what grief is there
For me you would not bravely face, with me you would not share?
O, what a weary want had every day, if wanting you, Wanting the love that God made mine when this old ring was new!
Years bring fresh links to bind us, wife, - young voices that are here;
Young faces round our fire that make their mother's yet more dear;
Young loving hearts your care each day makes yet more like to you,
More like the loving heart made mine when this old ring was new.
YOUR wedding-ring wears thin, dear wife; ah, summers not a few,
And blessed be God! all he has given are with us yet; around
Since I put it on your finger first, have passed
Our table every precious life lent to us still is found.
Though cares we've known, with hopeful hearts the worst we've struggled through; Blessed be his name for all his love since this old ring was new!
Your aged eyes will see in mine all they've still shown to you,
And mine in yours all they have seen since this old ring was new.
Mild is Maire bhan astór, Mine is Maire bhan astór, Saints will watch about the door
Of my Maire bhan astór.
And O, when death shall come at last to bid me to my rest,
May I die looking in those eyes, and resting on that breast;
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O FAIREST of creation, last and best Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet! How art thou lost, how on a sudden lost, Defaced, deflowered, and now to death devote! Rather, how hast thou yielded to transgress The strict forbiddance, how to violate
The sacred fruit forbidden! Some curséd fraud Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown, And me with thee hath ruined, for with thee Certain my resolution is to die. How can I live without thee, how forego Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined, To live again in these wild woods forlorn ? Should God create another Eve, and I Another rib afford, yet loss of thee Would never from my heart; no, no, I feel The link of nature draw me: flesh of flesh, Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe.
However, I with thee have fixed my lot, Certain to undergo like doom; if death Consort with thee, death is to me as life; So forcible within my heart I feel The bond of nature draw me to my own, My own in thee, for what thou art is mine; Our state cannot be severed, we are one, One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself.
FROM JULIUS CÆSAR."
PORTIA. Brutus, my lord!
BRUTUS. Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you now?
It is not for your health thus to commit Your weak condition to the raw-cold morning. POR. Nor for yours neither. You have un-
Stole from my bed: And yesternight, at supper, You suddenly arose, and walked about, Musing, and sighing, with your arms across ; And when I asked you what the matter was, You stared upon me with ungentle looks : I urged you further; then you scratched your head,
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