This tender sorrow for the time past o'er, To win the day, though now but scanty space These doubts that grow each minute more and Was left betwixt him and the winning place. more? Why does she tremble as the time grows near, Short was the way unto such wingéd feet, But while she seemed to hear her beating And from his hand the third fair apple cast. heart. Above their heads the trumpet blast rang out, And forth they sprang; and she must play her part; Then flew her white feet, knowing not a doubt, Though slackening once, she turned her head about, But then she cried aloud and faster fled She wavered not, but turned and ran so fast Nor did she rest, but turned about to win Than e'er before, and all men deemed him Why fails she now to see if far or nigh But with no sound he raised aloft his hand, And thence what seemed a ray of light there flew And past the maid rolled on along the sand; That gift to her, to make of earth a heaven. Then from the course with eager steps she ran, Note, too, the bow that she was wont to bear But as he set his mighty hand on it, Then, as a troubled glance she cast around, The goal is why do her gray eyes grow dim? the store By the banks of that lake, with his only beloved, For which Solomon's self might have given all And preferred in his heart the least ringlet that curled Down her exquisite neck to the throne of the world! There's a beauty, forever unchangingly bright, Like the long sunny lapse of a summer's day's light, Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender, Till love falls asleep in its sameness of splendor. This was not the beauty, O, nothing like this, That to young Nourmahal gave such magic of bliss, But that loveliness, ever in motion, which plays Like the light upon autumn's soft shadowy days, Now here and now there, giving warmth as it flies From the lips to the cheek, from the cheek to the eyes, Now melting in mist and now breaking in gleams, Like the glimpses a saint has of heaven in his dreams! When pensive, it seemed as if that very grace, That charm of all others, was born with her face; And when angry, for even in the tranquillest climes That the navy from Ophir e'er winged to his shore, Yet dim before her were the smiles of them all, And the Light of his Harem was young Nourmahal! MEETING. THOMAS MOORE. THE gray sea, and the long black land; Then a mile of warm, sea-scented beach; ROBERT BROWNING. THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS. CELIA and I, the other day, But, O the change! The winds grow high, "Once more at least look back," said I, “Thyself in that large glass descry : When thou art in good humor drest, When gentle reason rules thy breast, The sun upon the calmest sea Appears not half so bright as thee: 'T is then that with delight I rove Upon the boundless depth of love : I bless my chain, I hand my oar, Nor think on all I left on shore. “But when vain doubt and groundless fear MATTHEW PRIOR. THE BELLE OF THE BALL. YEARS, years ago, ere yet my dreams Had been of being wise or witty, Ere I had done with writing themes, Or yawned o'er this infernal Chitty, Years, years ago, while all my joys Were in my fowling-piece and filly; In short, while I was yet a boy, I fell in love with Laura Lilly. I saw her at the county ball; There, when the sounds of flute and fiddle Gave signal sweet in that old hall Of hands across and down the middle, Hers was the subtlest spell by far Of all that sets young hearts romancing. She was our queen, our rose, our star; And then she danced, -O Heaven! her dancing. Soft songs to Julia's cockatoo, Fierce odes to famine and to slaughter, And autographs of Prince Leeboo, And recipes for elder water. And she was flattered, worshipped, bored; Her sayings were extremely quoted. She smiled on many just for fun, I knew that there was nothing in it; I was the first, the only one, Her heart had thought of for a minute. I knew it, for she told me so, In phrase which was divinely moulded; Our love was most like other loves, And "Fly Not Yet," upon the river; Some hopes of dying broken-hearted; A miniature, a lock of hair, The usual vows, - and then we parted. Our meeting was all mirth and laughter! There had been many other lodgers; And she was not the ball-room's belle, But only Mrs. Something— Rogers! WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED. THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. IT was a friar of orders gray And he met with a lady fair "Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar; I pray thee tell to me, If ever at yon holy shrine My true-love thou didst see." "And how should I know your true-love From many another one?" "O, by his cockle hat, and staff, And by his sandal shoon. "His cheek was redder than the rose; "Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more, "Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, And left thee sad and heavy; "Now say not so, thou holy friar, I pray thee say not so; My love he had the truest heart, O, he was ever true! PYGMALION AND THE IMAGE. FROM THE EARTHLY PARADISE." ARGUMENT. A Man of Cyprus, a Sculptor named Pygmalion, made an Image of a Woman, fairer than any that had yet been seen, and in the end came to love his own handiwork as though it had been alive: wherefore, praying to Venus for help, he obtained his end, for she made the Image alive indeed, and a Woman, and Pygmalion wedded her. AT Amathus, that from the southern side The lessening marble that he worked upon, A woman's form now imaged doubtfully, "And art thou dead, thou much-loved youth, And in such guise the work had he begun, And didst thou die for me? Then farewell home; for evermore A pilgrim I will be. "But first upon my true-love's grave My weary limbs I'll lay, And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf That wraps his breathless clay." "Yet stay, fair lady: rest awhile Beneath this cloister wall; Because when he the untouched block did see "And then this block of stone shall be thy maid, See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind, Who made the gift that woe to all men brought. And drizzly rain doth fall." "O stay me not, thou holy friar, "Yet stay, fair lady, turn again, "Here forced by grief and hopeless love, And here, amid these lonely walls, "But haply, for my year of grace "Now farewell grief, and welcome joy Adapted by THOMAS PERCY. And yet, but such as he was wont to do, And yet, again, at last there came a day Yet long it was ere he was satisfied, |