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That course nor Delhi's kingly gates,
Nor mild Malwah detain;

For sweet the bliss us both awaits
By yonder western main.

Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say,

Across the dark blue sea;

But ne'er were hearts so light and gay

As then shall meet in thee !

REGINALD HEBER.

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.

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And, love, what changes we have seen, what cares and pleasures, too,

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Though cares we've known, with hopeful hearts the worst we've struggled through;

Since you became my own dear wife, when this Blessed be his name for all his love since this

old ring was new!

O, blessings on that happy day, the happiest of my life,

When, thanks to God, your low, sweet "Yes"

made you my loving wife!

Your heart will say the same, I know; that day's as dear to you, That day that made me yours, dear wife, when this old ring was new.

How well do I remember now your young sweet face that day! How fair you were, how dear you were, my tongue could hardly say;

old ring was new!

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Your aged eyes will see in mine all they've still shown to you,

Mild is Maire bhan astór,

Mine is Maire bhan astór,

And mine in yours all they have seen since this old ring was new.

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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.

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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 ungently, Brutus,

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,

And too impatiently stamped with your foot:
Yet I insisted, yet you answered not;
But, with an angry wafture of your hand,
Gave sign for me to leave you: So I did;
Fearing to strengthen that impatience,
Which seemed too much enkindled; and withal
Hoping it was but an effect of humor,
Which sometime hath his hour with every

man.

It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep,
And, could it work so much upon your shape,
As it hath much prevailed on your condition,
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.
BRU. I am not well in health, and that is
all.

POR. Brutus is wise, and were he not in health, He would embrace the means to come by it. BRU. Why, so I do :-good Portia, go to bed. POR. Is Brutus sick, and is it physical To walk unbraced, and suck up the humors Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, To dare the vile contagion of the night, And tempt the rheumy and unpurgéd air To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus ; You have some sick offence within your mind, Which, by the right and virtue of my place, I ought to know of: And upon my knees I charm you, by my once commended beauty, By all your vows of love, and that great vow Which did incorporate and make us one, That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, Why you are heavy; and what men to-night Have had resort to you, for here have been Some six or seven, who did hide their faces Even from darkness.

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Of your good pleasure? If it be no more,
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife.

BRU. You are my true and honorable wife;
As dear to me, as are the ruddy drops
That visit my sad heart.

POR. If this were true, then should I know this secret.

I grant I am a woman; but, withal,

A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife :
I grant I am a woman; but, withal,
A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter.

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VI.

"But I," he replied, "have promised another, when love was free,

To love her alone, alone, who alone and afar loves me."

VII.

"Why, that," she said, "is no reason.

Love's

always free, I am told. Will you vow to be safe from the headache on Tuesday, and think it will hold?"

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At which he rose up in his anger,
you no longer are fair!

"Why, now, "Love's a virtue for heroes! -as white as the snow on high hills,

Why, now, you no longer are fatal, but ugly and And immortal as every great soul is that strughateful, I swear.'

XI.

At which she laughed out in her scorn,
men! O, these men overnice,

gles, endures, and fulfils.

XXI.

"These "I love my Walter profoundly, -you, Maude, though you faltered a week,

Who are shocked if a color not virtuous is frankly For the sake of... what was it? an eyebrow? or,

put on by a vice."

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'What reason had you, and what right, — I ap

peal to your soul from my life,

less still, a mole on a cheek?

XXII.

"And since, when all's said, you 're too noble to stoop to the frivolous cant

About crimes irresistible, virtues that swindle, betray, and supplant,

XXIII.

"I determined to prove to yourself that, whate'er you might dream or avow

To find me too fair as a woman? Why, sir, I am By illusion, you wanted precisely no more of me

pure, and a wife.

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than you have now.

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["In the Parish of St. Neots, Cornwall, is a well, arched over
with the robes of four kinds of trees, withy, oak, elm, and ash, —
and dedicated to St. Keyne. The reported virtue of the water is
this, that, whether husband or wife first drink thereof, they get the
mastery thereby."-
"- FULLER.]

A WELL there is in the West country,
And a clearer one never was seen;
There is not a wife in the West country
But has heard of the well of St. Keyne.

An oak and an elm tree stand beside,
And behind does an ash-tree grow,
And a willow from the bank above

Droops to the water below.

A traveller came to the well of St. Keyne; Pleasant it was to his eye,

For from cock-crow he had been travelling,
And there was not a cloud in the sky.

He drank of the water so cool and clear,
For thirsty and hot was he,
And he sat down upon the bank,

Under the willow-tree.

There came a man from the nighboring town At the well to fill his pail,

On the well-side he rested it,

And bade the stranger hail.

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"I have left a good woman who never was here," The stranger he made reply;

"But that my draught should be better for that, I pray you answer me why."

"St. Keyne, "quoth the countryman, "many a time Drank of this crystal well,

And before the angel summoned her
She laid on the water a spell.

"If the husband of this gifted well
Shall drink before his wife,
A happy man thenceforth is he,
For he shall be master for life.

"But if the wife should drink of it first,
Heaven help the husband then!"
The stranger stooped to the well of St. Keyne,
And drank of the waters again.

"You drank of the well, I warrant, betimes?" He to the countryman said.

But the countryman smiled as the stranger spake, And sheepishly shook his head.

"I hastened, as soon as the wedding was done, And left my wife in the porch.

But i' faith, she had been wiser than me,
For she took a bottle to church."

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

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