"Our rocks are rough, but smiling there "Our sands are bare, but down their slope The silvery-footed antelope As gracefully and gayly springs As o'er the marble courts of kings. "Then come, thy Arab maid will be there are looks and tones that dart An instant sunshine through the heart, As if the soul that minute caught Some treasure it through life had sought; "As if the very lips and eyes "So came thy every glance and tone, When first on me they breathed and shone ; "Then fly with me, if thou hast known "Come, if the love thou hast for me "But if for me thou dost forsake "Then, fare thee well! - I'd rather make As if 't were fixed by magic there, And naming her, so long unnamed, So long unseen, wildly exclaimed, "O Nourmahal! O Nourmahal! Hadst thou but sung this witching strain, I could forget-forgive thee all, And never leave those eyes again." The mask is off, - the charm is wrought, As on his arm her head reposes, 66 THOMAS MOORE. COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD. COME into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown! Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the roses blown. For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves, On a bed of daffodil sky, To faint in the light of the sun that she loves, To faint in its light, and to die. All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, bassoon; All night has the casement jessamine stirred I said to the lily, "There is but one With whom she has heart to be gay. Low on the sand and loud on the stone I said to the rose, The brief night goes In babble and revel and wine. O young lord-lover, what sighs are those And the soul of the rose went into my blood, As the music clashed in the hall; And long by the garden lake I stood, For I heard your rivulet fall And the best of all ways To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear! From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood, Now all the world is sleeping, love, Our wood, that is dearer than all; From the meadow your walks have left so sweet That whenever a March-wind sighs, He sets the jewel-print of your feet In violets blue as your eyes, To the woody hollows in which we meet, The slender acacia would not shake One long milk-bloom on the tree ; As the pimpernel dozed on the lea ; But the rose was awake all night for your sake, The lilies and roses were all awake, Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls, 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"; The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear"; She is coming, my own, my sweet! Were it ever so airy a tread, ALFRED TENNYSON. THE YOUNG MAY MOON. THE young May moon is beaming, love, Through Morna's grove, But the sage, his star-watch keeping, love, And I, whose star, More glorious far, Is the eye from that casement peeping, love. Of bodies of light, He might happen to take thee for one, my dear ! THOMAS MOORE. AH, SWEET KITTY NEIL! "AH, Sweet Kitty Neil ! rise up from your wheel, Your neat little foot will be weary from spin ning; Come, trip down with me to the sycamore-tree; Half the parish is there, and the dance is beginning. The sun is gone down; but the full harvest moon Shines sweetly and cool on the dew-whitened valley; While all the air rings with the soft, loving things Each little bird sings in the green shaded alley." With a blush and a smile, Kitty rose up the while, Her eye in the glass, as she bound her hair, glancing; 'Tis hard to refuse when a young lover sues, So she could n't but choose to go off to the dancing. And now on the green the glad groups are seen, Each gay-hearted lad with the lass of his choos ing; And Pat, without fail, leads out sweet Kitty Neil,— Somehow, when he asked, she ne'er thought of refusing. Now Felix Magee puts his pipes to his knee, And, with flourish so free, sets each couple in motion; With a cheer and a bound, the lads patter the ground, The maids move around just like swans on the ocean. Cheeks bright as the rose, -feet light as the doe's, Now coyly retiring, now boldly advancing; Search the world all around from the sky to the ground, No such sight can be found as an Irish lass dancing! WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, O WHISTLE and I'll come to you, my lad, But warily tent, when ye come to court me, O whistle, &c. At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, O whistle, &c. Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me, O whistle, &c. ROBERT BURNS. THE NYMPH'S REPLY. IF that the world and love were young, But time drives flocks from field to fold, The flowers do fade, and wanton fields But could youth last, and love still breed, SIR WALTER RALEIGH. THE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. COME, live with me, and be my love, A belt of straw, and ivy buds, The shepherd swains shall dance and sing CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. |