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And must this parting be our very last ? Give me one look before my life be gone, No! I shall love thee still, when death itself is Oh ! give me that, and let me not despair, past.

One last fond look ! - and now repeat the

prayer.” Half could I bear, methinks, to leave this He had his wish, had more: I will not paint earth,

The lovers' meeting ; she beheld him faint, And thee, more loved than aught beneath the sun, With tender fears, she took a nearer view, If I had lived to smile but on the birth

Her terrors doubling as her hopes withdrew; Of one dear pledge ; – but shall there then be He tried to smile; and, half succeeding, said,

"Yes! I must die ” -- and hope forever fiel. In future time, no gentle little one,

Still long she nursed him ; tender thoughts To clasp thy neck, and look, resembling me?

meantime Yet seems it, even while life's last pulses run, Were interchanged, and hopes and views sublime. A sweetness in the cup of death to be,

To her he came to die, and every day
Lord of my bosom's love ! to die beholding thee! She took some portion of the dread away ;

With him she prayed, to him his Bible read,
Soothed the faint heart, and held the aching

none,

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

head :

THE MOURNER.

She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer,

Apart she sighed ; alone, she shed the tear; YES ! there are real mourners, -- I have seen Then, as if breaking from a cloud, she gave A fair sad girl, mild, suffering, and serene ; Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave. Attention (through the day) her duties claimed, One day he lighter seemed, and they forgot And to be useful as resigned she aimed ; The care, the dread, the anguish of their lot ; Neatly she drest, nor vainly seemed t expect They spoke with cheerfulness, and seemed to Pity for grief, or pardon for negl et ;

think, But when her wearied parents sunk to sleep,

Yet said not so — “Perhaps he will not sink." She sought her place to meditate and weep;

A sudden brightness in his look appeared, Then to her mind was all the past displayed, A sudden vigor in his voice was heard ; That faithful memory brings to sorrow's aid : She had been reading in the Book of Prayer, For then she thought on one regretted youth, And led him forth, and placed liim in his chair; Her tender trust, and his unquestioned truth; Lively he seemed, and spake of all he knew, In every place she wandered, where they 'd been, The friendly many, and the favorite few; And sadly-sacred held the parting scene, Nor one that day did he to mind recall, Where last for sea he took his leave ; that place But she has treasured, and she loves them all ; With double interest would she nightly trace ! When in her way she meets them, they appear

Happy he sailed, and great the care she took, Peculiar people, — death has made them dear. That he should softly sleep and smartly look ; He named his friend, but then his hand she porest, White was his better linen, and his check And fondly whispered, “Thou must go to rest." Was made more trim than any on the deck ; “I go," he said ; but as he spoke, she found And every comfort men at sea can know, His hand more cold, and fluttering was the Was hers to buy, to make, and to bestow :

sound; For he to Greenland sailets, and much she told, Then gazed affrighted ; but she caught a last, How he should guard against the climate's cold; A dying look of love, and all was past ! Yet saw not langer; dangers he'd withstood, She placed a decent stone his grave above, Nor could she trace the fever in his blood. Neatly engraved, - an offering of her love :

His messmates smiled at flushings on his cheek, For that she wrought, for that forsook her bed, And he too smiled, but seldom would he speak; Awake alike to duty and the dead; For now he found the danger, felt the pain, She would have grieved, had friends presumed to With grievous symptoms he could not explain.

spare He called his friend, and prefaced with a sigh

The least assistance, 't was her proper care. A lover's message,

- “Thomas, I must die ; Here will she come, and on the grave will sit, Would I could see my Sally, and could rest Folding her arms, in long abstracted fit: My throbbing temples on her faithful breast, But if observer pass, will take her round, And gazing go ! — if not, this trifle take, And careless seem, for she would not be found ; And say, till death I wore it for her sake: Then go again, and thus her hours employ, Yes! I must die - blow on, sweet breeze, blow While visions please her, and while woes ilestroy.

on

GEORGE CRABBE.

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But, with her heart, if not her ear,
The old loved voice she seemed to hear :
“I wait to meet thee ; be of cheer
For all is well !”

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

TO LUCASTA.

Her window opens to the bay,
On glistening light or misty gray,
And there at dawn and set of day

In prayer she kneels :
“Dear Lord !” she saith, “to many a home
From wind and wave the wanderers come;
I only see the tossing foam

Of stranger keels.
“Blown out and in by summer gales,
The stately ships, with crowded sails,
And sailors leaning o'er their rails,

Before me glide;
They come, they go, but nevermore,
Spice-laden from the Indian shore,
I see his swift-winged Isidore

The waves divide.

Or no,

“O thou ! with whom the night is day And one the near and far away, Look out on yon gray waste, and say

Where lingers he. Alive, perchance, on some lone beach Or thirsty isle beyond the reach Of man, he hears the mocking speech

Of wind and sea.

IF to be absent were to be

Away from thee;
Or that, when I am gone,

You or I were alone;
Then, my Lucasta, might I crave
Pity from blustering wind or swallowing wave.
But I'll not sigh one blast or gale

To swell my sail,
Or pay a tear to 'suage

The foaming blue-god's rage ;
For, whether he will let me pass

I'm still as happy as I was.
Though seas and lands be 'twixt us both,

Our faith and troth,
Like separated souls,

All time and space controls :
Above the highest sphere we meet,
Unseen, unknown; and greet as angels greet.
So, then, we do anticipate

Our after-fate,
And are alive i' th skies,

If thus our lips and eyes
Can speak like spirits unconfined
In heaven, - their earthly boilies left behind.

COLONEL RICHARD LOVELACE

"O dread and cruel deep, reveal
The secret which thy waves conceal,
And, ye wild sea-birds, hither wheel

And tell your tale.
Let winds that tossed his raven hair
A message from my lost one bear,
Some thought of me, a last fond prayer

Or dying wail !
“Come, with your dreariest truth shut out
The fears that haunt me round about;
O God! I cannot bear this doubt

That stilles breath.
The worst is better than the dread;
Give me but leave to mourn my dead
Asleep in trust and hope, instead

Of life in death!"

OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN

BLAW.

OF a' the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west;
For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best.
There wild woods grow, and rivers row,

And monie a hill's between ;
Bat day and night my fancy's flight

Is ever wi' my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flowers,

I see her sweet and fair;

It might have been the evening breeze
That whispered in the garden trees,
It might have been the sound of seas

That rose and fell ;

O, SAW YE BONNIE LESLEY ?

I hear her in the tunefu' birds,

I hear her charm the air ; There's not a bonnie flower that springs

By fountain, shaw, or green, There's not a bonnie bird that sings,

But minds me of my Jean.

O, SAW ye bonnie Lesley

As she gaed o'er the border ? She's gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.

ROBERT BURNS.

To see her is to love her,

And love but her forever ; For nature made her what she is,

And ne'er made sic anither!

LOVE'S MEMORY.

FROM

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,

Thy subjects we, before thee; Thou art divine, fair Lesley,

The hearts o' men adore thee.

ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL." LAM undone : there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. It were all one, That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it, he is so above me : In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself : The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague, To see him ev'ry hour ; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table, -- heart too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favor : But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his relics.

SHAKESPEARE.

The deil he could na scaith thee,

Or aught that wad belang thee; He'd look into thy bonnie face,

And say "I canna wrang thee!'

The Powers aboon will tent thee;

Misfortune sha' na steer thee; Thou 'rt like themselves sae lovely

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.

Return again, fair Lesley,

Return to Caledonie ! That we may brag we hae a lass

There's nane again sae bonnie.

THE SUN UPON THE LAKE IS LOW.

ROBERT BURNS

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