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AMELIA B. WELBY.
THE GOLDEN RINGLET.
No, indeed ! for God above
Is great to grant as mighty to make,
And creates the love to reward the love ;
I claim you still, for my own love's sake!
Delayed, it may be, for more lives yet,
Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few ;
Ere the time be come for taking you.
But the time will come at last it will
When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall say, Yes ! from this shining ringlet still
In the lower earth, in the years long still,
That body and soul so pure and gay ?
Why your hair was amber I shall divine,
And your mouth of your own geranium's red, --
And what you would do with me, in fine,
In the new life come in the old one's stead.
I have lived, I shall say, so much since then,
Given up myself so many times,
Gained me the gains of various men,
Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes ;
Yet one thing - one in my soul's full scope,
Either I missed or itself missed me, ,
And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope !
What is the issue ? let us see !
I loved you, Evelyn, all the while ;
My heart seemed full as it could hold,
And the red young mouth, and the hair's young BEAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead !
So, hush ! I will give you this leaf to keep ;
See, I shut it inside the sweet, cold hand.
There, that is our secret! go to sleep;
You will wake, and remember, and understand,
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden lived, whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love, and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea ;
But we loved with a love that was more than love,
I and my Annabel Lee,
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
We were fellow-mortals, --- naught beside ? In this kingdom by the sea,
EDGAR ALLEN POE.
For the moon never beams without bringing me
FAIR HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL.
["A lady of the name of Helen Irving or Bell (for this is disputed And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side by the two clans), daughter of the Laird of Kirkconnell, in DumfriesOf my darling, my darling, my life, and my bride, men in the neighborhood. The name of the favored suitor was
Adam Fleming of Kirkpatrick; that of the other has escaped traIn her sepulcher there by the sea,
dition, although it has been alleged that he was a Bell of Blacket In her tomb by the sounding sea.
House. The addresses of the latter were, however, favored by the friends of the lady, and the lovers were therefore obliged to meet in secret, and by night, in the churcliyard of Kirkconnell, a romantic spot surrounded by the river Kirtle. During one of these private interviews, the jealous and despised lover suddenly appeared on
the opposite bank of the stream, and leveled his carabine at the FLORENCE VANE.
breast of his rival. Helen threw herself before her lover, received in her bosom the bullet, and died in his arms. A desperate
and mortal coinbat ensued between Fleming and the murderer, in I LOVED thee long and dearly,
which the latter was cut to pieces. Other accounts say that FlemFlorence Vane;
ing pursued his enemy to Spain, and slew him in the streets of
I WISH I were where Helen lies :
Night and day on me she cries;
O that I were where Helen lies,
On fair Kirkconnell lea !
Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
And curst the hand that fired the shot,
When in my arms burd Helen dropt,
And died to succor me !
0, think na but my heart was sair,
When my love dropt down and spake nae mair!
I laid her down wi' meikle care,
On fair Kirkconnell lea.
Thou wast lovelier than the roses
In their prime;
Of sweetest rhyme ;
As I went down to the water-side,
On fair Kirkconnell lea,
How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasped her to my bosom! The golden hours on angel wings
Fiew o'er me and my dearie ; For dear to me as light and life
Was my sweet Highland Mary.
Wi' mony a vow and locked embrace
Our parting was fu’ tender
We tore oursels asunder ;
That nipt my flower sae early !
That wraps my Highland Mary!
“ Cusha ! Cusha! Cusha !” calling,
For the dews will soone be falling ; Leave your meadow grasses mellow,
Mellow, mellow ! Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow! Come uppe, Whitefoot ! come uppe, Lightfoot! Quit the stalks of parsley hollow,
Hollow, hollow ! Come uppe, Jetty! rise and follow; From the clovers lift your head ! Come uppe, Whitefoot! come uppe, Lightfoot! Come uppe, Jetty! rise and follow, Jetty, to the milking-shed.'
But each will mourne his own (she sayth) Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore,
O’erhung with wild woods, thickening green ; Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,
Twined amorous round the raptured scene; I shall never hear her more
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, By the reedy Lindis shore,
The birds sang love on every spray, “Cusha! Cusha ! Cusha !" calling,
Till soon, too soon, the glowing west Ere the early dews be falling;
Proclaimed the speed of winged day. I shall never hear her song, “ Cusha! Cusha !” all along,
Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care !
Time but the impression stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear. Where the water, winding down,
My Mary! dear departed shade ! Onward floweth to the town.
Where is thy place of blissful rest ?
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? I shall never see her more, ,
Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast? Where the reeds and rushes quiver,
O, SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM !
0, SNATCHED away in beauty's bloom ! “Leave your meadow grasses mellow,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb !
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year,
And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream,
And lingering pause and lightly tread;
Fond wretch! as if her step disturbed the dead!
Away! we know that tears are vain,
That Death nor heeds nor hears distress :
Or make one mourner weep the less ?
And thou, who tell'st me to forget,
THE MAID'S LAMENT.
I LOVED him not; and yet, now he is gone,
I feel I am alone. Where is thy place of blissful rest?
I checked him while he spoke ; yet could he speak, See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ?
Alas! I would not check.
And wearied all my thought
To vex myself and him : I now would give Can I forget the hallowed grove,
My love, could he but live Where by the winding Ayr we met
Who lately lived for me, and when he found To live one day of parting love ?
’T was vain, in holy ground Eternity will not efface
He hid his face amid the shades of death ! Those records dear of transports past;
I waste for him my breath Thy image at our last embrace ;
Who wasted his for me ; but mine returns, Ah ! little thought we 't was our last !
And this lone bosom burns