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Nor how I doated on you ; 0, how proud I was

of you ! But did I love you more than now, when this

old ring was new!

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.

No- no ! no fairer were you then than at this

hour to me; And, dear as life to me this day, how could you

dearer be? As sweet your face might be that day as now it

is, 't is true; But did I know your heart as well when this old

ring was new?

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.

O partner of my gladness, wife, what care, what

grief is there For me you would not bravely face, with me

you would not share ? 0, what a weary want had every day, if wanting

you, Wanting the love that God made mine when

this old ring was new !

Years bring fresh links to bind us, wife, — young

voices that are here; Young faces round our fire that make their

mother's yet more dear; Young loving hearts your care each day makes

yet more like to you, More like the loving heart made mine when this

old ring was new.

ROBERT BURNS.

THE WORN WEDDING-RING.

Your wedding-ring wears thin, dear wife ; ah, And blessed be God ! all he has given are with summers not a few,

us yet; around Since I put it on your finger first, have passed Our table every precious life lent to us still is o'er me and you ;

found. And, love, what changes we have seen, — what Though cares we've known, with hopeful hearts cares and pleasures, too,

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 !

old ring was new !

0, blessings on that happy day, the happiest of The past is dear, its sweetness still our memomy life,

ries treasure yet ; When, thanks to God, your low, sweet “Yes” The griefs we've borne, together borne, we would made you my loving wife !

not now forget. Your heart will say the same, I know; that Whatever, wife, the future brings, heart unto

heart still true, day's as dear to you, That day that made me yours, dear wife, when We'll share as we have shared all else since this this old ring was new.

old ring was new.

How well do I remember now your young sweet And if God spare us 'mongst our sons and daughface that day !

ters to grow old, How fair you were, how dear you were, my We know his goodness will not let your heart tongue could hardly say ;

or mine grow cold.

130

WILLIAM COX BENNETT.

I.

Your aged eyes will see in mine all they've still

Mild is Maire bhan astor, shown to you,

Mine is Maire bhan astór, And mine in yours all they have seen since this

Saints will watch about the door old ring was new.

Of my Maire bhan astór.

THOMAS DAVIS, And 0, when death shall come at last to bid me

to my rest, May I die looking in those eyes, and resting on

ADAM TO EVE. that breast; 0, may my parting gaze be blessed with the dear O FAIREST of creation, last and best sight of you,

Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Of those fond eyes,

- fond as they were when Whatever can to sight or thought be formed,
this old ring was new !

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
MARIE BHAN ASTOR.

The sacred fruit forbidden! Some cursed fraud

Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown,
FAIR MARY, MY TREASURE."

And me with thee hath ruined, for with thec

Certain my resolution is to die.
In a valley far away

How can I live without thee, how forego
With my Maire bhan astór,

Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined,
Short would be the summer-day,

To live again in these wild woods forlorn ?
Ever loving more and more ;

Should God create another Eve, and I
Winter days would all grow long,

Another rib afford, yet loss of thee
With the light her heart would pour,

Would never from my heart ; no, no, I feel
With her kisses and her song,

The link of nature draw me : flesh of flesh
And her loving mait go

leór.

Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state
Fond is Maire bhan astór,

Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe.
Fair is Maire bhan astór,
Sweet as ripple on the shore, However, I with thee have fixed my lot,
Sings my Maire bhan astór. Certain to undergo like doom ; if death

Consort with thee, death is to me as life ;
So forcible within my heart I feel

The bond of nature draw me to my own,
0, her sire is very proud,

My own in thee, for what thou art is mine ;
And her mother cold as stone;

Our state cannot be severed, we are one,
But her brother bravely vowed

One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself.
She should be my bride alone;
For he knew I loved her well,

And he knew she loved me too,
So he sought their pride to quell,
But 't was all in vain to sue.

PORTIA AND BRUTUS.
True is Maire bhan astór,

JULIUS CÆSAR."
Tried is Maire bhan astór,
Had I wings I'd never soar

Portia. Brutus, my lord !
From my Maire bhan astór.

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.
There are lands where manly toil

Por. Nor for yours neither. You have un. Surely reaps the crop it sows,

gently, Brutus,
Glorious woods and teeming soil,

Stole from my bed : And yesternight, at supper,
Where the broad Missouri flows; You suddenly arose, and walked about,
Through the trees the smoke shall rise, Musing, and sighing, with your arts across ;

From our hearth with mait go leor, And when I asked you what the matter was,
There shall shine the happy eyes

You stared upon me with ungentle looks : Of my Maire bhan astór.

I urged you further; then you scratched your head,

IT.

MILTON,

FROM

III,

Think you, I am no stronger than my sex,
Being so fathered, and so husbanded ?
Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them.

SHAKESPEARE.

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

LORD WALTER'S WIFE.

man.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep, “But why do you go ?” said the lady, while both And, could it work so much upon your shape,

sate under the yew, As it hath much prevailed on your condition, And her eyes were alive in their depth, as the I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord, kraken beneath the sea-blue. Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. Brv. I am not well in health, and that is all.

“ Because I fear you," he answered ; “ because Por. Brutus is wise, and were he not in health, you are far too fair, He would embrace the means to come by it.

And able to strangle my soul in a mesh of your Bru. Why, so I do :- good Portia, go to bed. gold-colored hair."

Por. Is Brutus sick, - and is it physical
To walk unbraced, and suck up the humors
Of the dank morning ? What, is Brutus sick, -

“O that,” she said, “is no reason ! Such knots And will he steal out of his wholesome bed,

are quickly undone, To dare the vile contagion of the night,

And too much beauty, I reckon, is nothing but And tempt the rheumy and unpurgéd air

too much sun.' To add unto his sickness ? No, my Brutus ; You have some sick offence within your mind, Yet farewell so," he answered ; — "the sunWhich, by the right and virtue of my place,

stroke 's fatal at times, I ought to know of: And upon my knees I value your husband, Lord Walter, whose gallop I charm you, by my once commended beauty,

rings still from the limes."
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,

O that,” she said, “is no reason. You smell Why you are heavy; and what men to-night

a rose through a fence : Have had resort to you,

for here have been

If two should smell it, what matter? who grumSome six or seven, who did hide their faces

bles, and where's the pretence ?" Even from darkness. BRU.

Kneel not, gentle Portia. Por. I should not need, if you were gentle

“But I," he replied, “have promised another, Brutus.

when love was free, Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,

To love her alone, alone, who alone and afar loves

me."
Is it expected, I should know no secrets
That appertain to you? Am I yourself
But, as it were, in sort or limitation,

“Why, that,” she said, “is no reason. Love's To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed,

always free, I am told. And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the Will you vow to be safe from the headache on suburbs

Tuesday, and think it will hold ?" of your good pleasure ? If it be no more, Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife.

“But you," he replied, “have a daughter, a Bru. You are my true and honorable wife ;

young little child, who was laid As dear to me, as are the ruddy drops

In your lap to be pure; so I leave you : the anThat visit my sad heart.

gels would make me afraid." Por. If this were true, then should I know

this secret. I grant I am a woman ; but, withal,

“O that,” she said, “is no reason. The angels A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife :

keep out of the way ; I grant I am a woman ; but, withal,

And Dora, the child, observes nothing, although A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter.

you should please me and stay."

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

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At which he rose up in his anger, "Why, now,

“Love's a virtue for heroes ! - as white as the you no longer are fair !

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."

gles, endures, and fulfils.

XXI. At which she laughed out in her scorn, —"These “I love my Walter profoundly, — you, Maude, men ! O, these men overnice,

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.”

less still, a mole on a cheek?

XXII.

XII.

Her eyes blazed upon him — “And you! You

“And since, when all's said, you 're too noble to bring us your vices so near

stoop to the frivolous cant That we smell them ! You think in our presence About crimes irresistible, virtues that swindle, a thought 't would defame us to hear !

betray, and supplant,

XXIII.

XIII.

“What reason had you, and what right, - I ap

peal to your soul from my life, To find me too fair as a woman? Why, sir, I am pure, and a wife.

XIV. “Is the day-star too fair up above you ? It burns

you not. Dare you imply I brushed you more close than the star does, when

Walter had set me as high ?

“I determined to prove to yourself that, whate'er

you might dream or avow By illusion, you wanted precisely no more of me than you have now.

XXIV. “There ! Look me full in the face !- in the face.

Understand, if you can, That the eyes of such women as I am are clean as the palm of a man.

XXV. “Drop his hand, you insult him. Avoid us for

fear we should cost you a scar, You take us for harlots, I tell you, and not for the women we are.

XXVI. You wronged me : but then I considered...

there's Walter! And so at the end, I vowed that he should not be mulcted, by me,

in the hand of a friend.

XV.

“If a man finds a woman too fair, he means sim

ply adapted too much To uses unlawful and fatal. The praise ! — shall I thank you for such ?

XVI. Too fair?- not unless you misuse us ! and surely

if, once in a while, You attain to it, straightway you call us no longer

too fair, but too vile.

XXVII.

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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. “Now art thou a bachelor, stranger ?” quoth he,

“ For an if thou hast a wife, The happiest draught thou hast drank this day

That ever thou didst in thy life.
“Or has your good woman, if one you have,

In Cornwall ever been ?
For an if she have, I'll venture my life

She has drank of the well St. Keyne.”

“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,“manya 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.

HOME.

This hearth 's our own,

Our hearts are one, And peace is ours forever !

HOME, SWEET HOME.
FROM THE OPERA OF “CLARI, THE MAID OF MILAN."
Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble there's no place like home!
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us here,
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with

elsewhere.
Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home!

There 's no place like home!
An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain !
0, give me my lowly thatched cottage again !
The birds singing gayly that came at my call;-
Give me them ! and the peace of mind dearer

than all ! Home ! home, &c.

JOHN HOWARD PAYNE.

When I was poor,

Your father's door Was closed against your constant lover,

With care and pain,

I tried in vain
My fortunes to recover.
I said, “ To other lands I 'll roam,

Where Fate may smile on me, love"
I said, “ Farewell, my own old home !"
And I said, “Farewell to thee, love !

Sing Gille machrce, &c.

GILLE MACHREE. ENGLISH, — "BRIGHTENER OF MY HEART."

Gille machree,

Sit down by me, We now are joined and ne'er shall sever;

I might have said,

My mountain maid,
Come live with me, your own true lover ;

I know a spot,

A silent cot,
Your friends can ne'er discover,
Where gently flows the waveless tide

By one small garden only;

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