Besides, we had our higher loves, - fair science ruled my heart, We dreamed together of the days, the dreambright days to come, We were strictly confidential, and we called each other "chum." And many a day we wandered together o'er the hills, I seeking bugs and butterflies, and she, the ruined mills And rustic bridges, and the like, that picturemakers prize To run in with their waterfalls, and groves, and summer skies. And many a quiet evening, in hours of silent ease, We floated down the river, or strolled beneath the trees, And talked, in long gradation from the poets to the weather, While the western skies and my cigar burned slowly out together. Yet through it all no whispered word, no telltale glance or sigh, Told aught of warmer sentiment than friendly sympathy. We talked of love as coolly as we talked of nebulæ, And thought no more of being one than we did of being three. "Well, good by, chum!" I took her hand, for the time had come to go. And she said her young affections were all wound My going meant our parting, when to meet, we up in art. High friendship, such as ours, might well such childish arts despise ; did not know. I had lingered long, and said farewell with a very heavy heart; For although we were but friends, 't is hard for honest friends to part. "Good-by, old fellow! don't forget your friends beyond the sea, And some day, when you've lots of time, drop a line or two to me." The words came lightly, gayly, but a great sob, just behind, Welled upward with a story of quite a different kind. We liked each other, that was all, quite all there And then she raised her eyes to mine, - great was to say, liquid eyes of blue, So we just shook hands upon it, in a business Filled to the brim, and running o'er, like violet sort of way. We shared our secrets and our joys, together hoped and feared, With common purpose sought the goal that young Ambition reared; "O, never," said she, "could I think of en- Consists not in the multitude of friends, shrining But in the worth and choice. Cynthia's Revels. COWPER. BEN JONSON. An image whose looks are so joyless and dim ; him." So the bargain was struck; with the little god Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere, laden, She joyfully flew to her home in the grove. "Farewell," said the sculptor, "you 're not the first maiden In action faithful, and in honor clear; Who came but for Friendship, and took away Like the stained web that whitens in the sun, Love!" Whose flattering leaves, that shadowed us in Our prosperity, with the least gust drop off In the autumn of adversity. Give me the avowed, the erect, the manly foe, Bold I can meet, - perhaps may turn his blow; But of all plagues, good Heaven, thy wrath can send, And do as adversaries do in law, HOMER. SHENSTONE. Save, save, oh! save me from the Candid Friend! Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends. New Morality. GEORGE CANNING. And hurt my brother. Hamlet, Act v. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE. Lay this into your breast: COMPLIMENT AND ADMIRATION. WHEN IN THE CHRONICLE OF WASTED | How could he see to do them? having made one, TIME. SONNET CVI. WHEN in the chronicle of wasted time SHAKESPEARE. O MISTRESS MINE. FROM "TWELFTH NIGHT," ACT II. SC. 3. O MISTRESS mine, where are you roaming? Every wise man's son doth know. What is love? 't is not hereafter; SHAKESPEARE. PORTIA'S PICTURE. FROM "THE MERCHANT OF VENICE," ACT III. SC. 2. FAIR Portia's counterfeit ? What demi-god Should sunder such sweet friends: Here in her hairs The painter plays the spider; and hath woven A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men, Faster than gnats in cobwebs: But her eyes, TO MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY. As midsummer flower, Or hawk of the tower; Or hawk of the tower. JOHN SKELTON. THE FORWARD VIOLET THUS DID I CHIDE. SONNET XCIX. THE forward violet thus did I chide :· Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, If not from my love's breath? the purple pride More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, THERE IS A GARDEN IN HER FACE. FROM "AN HOURE'S RECREATION IN MUSICKE," 1606. THERE is a garden in her face, Where roses and white lilies blow; A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow ; There cherries grow that none may buy, Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. Those cherries fairly do enclose Of orient pearl a double row, Which when her lovely laughter shows, They look like rosebuds filled with snow; Yet them no peer nor prince may buy, Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. Her eyes like angels watch them still, Her brows like bended bows do stand, RICHARD ALLISON. MY SWEET SWEETING. FROM A MS. TEMP. HENRY VIII, Ан, my sweet sweeting; My sweeting will I love wherever I go ; There is none such, you may be sure, GIVE PLACE, YE LOVERS. GIVE place, ye lovers, here before That spent your boasts and brags in vain ; My lady's beauty passeth more The best of yours, I dare well sayen, And thereto hath a troth as just As had Penelope the fair; |