Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF
ePub

THE POET'S BRIDAL-DAY SONG.

O, MY love's like the steadfast sun,
Or streams that deepen as they run;
Nor hoary hairs, nor forty years,
Nor moments between sighs and tears,
Nor nights of thought, nor days of pain,
Nor dreams of glory dreamed in vain,
Nor mirth, nor sweetest song that flows
To sober joys and soften woes,
Can make my heart or fancy flee,

One moment, my sweet wife, from thee.

Even while I muse, I see thee sit
In maiden bloom and matron wit;
Fair, gentle as when first I sued,
Ye seem, but of sedater mood;
Yet my heart leaps as fond for thee

As when, beneath Arbigland tree,

We stayed and wooed, and thought the moon
Set on the sea an hour too soon;
Or lingered mid the falling dew,

When looks were fond and words were few.

Though I see smiling at thy feet
Five sons and ae fair daughter sweet,
And time, and care, and birthtime woes

Have dimmed thine eye and touched thy rose,
To thee, and thoughts of thee, belong
Whate'er charms me in tale or song.
When words descend like dews, unsought,
With gleams of deep, enthusiast thought,
And Fancy in her heaven flies free,

They come, my love, they come from thee.

O, when more thought we gave, of old,
To silver than some give to gold,
"T was sweet to sit and ponder o'er
How we should deck our humble bower;
"T was sweet to pull, in hope, with thee,
The golden fruit of fortune's tree;
And sweeter still to choose and twine
A garland for that brow of thine,

A song-wreath which may grace my Jean,
While rivers flow, and woods grow green.

At times there come, as come there ought,
Grave moments of sedater thought,
When Fortune frowns, nor lends our night
One gleam of her inconstant light;
And Hope, that decks the peasant's bower,
Shines like a rainbow through the shower;
O, then I see, while seated nigh,

A mother's heart shine in thine eye,
And proud resolve and purpose meek,
Speak of thee more than words can speak.
I think this wedded wife of mine
The best of all that's not divine.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

[blocks in formation]
[ocr errors]

How fast would evening fail

In green Bengala's palmy grove,
Listening the nightingale!

I thou, my love, wert by my side,
My babies at my knee,

How gayly would our pinnace glide
O'er Ganga's mimic sea!

I miss thee at the dawning gray
When, on our deck reclined,
In careless ease my limbs I lay
And woo the cooler wind.

I miss thee when by Gunga's stream
My twilight steps I guide,

But most beneath the lamp's pale beam
I miss thee from my side.

I spread my books, my pencil try,
The lingering noon to cheer,
But miss thy kind, approving eye,
Thy meek, attentive ear

[blocks in formation]

Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say, Let the breath of renown Across the dark blue sea;

But never were hearts so light and gay

As then shall meet in thee!

REGINALD HEBER.

WIFE, CHILDREN, AND FRIENDS.

WHEN the black-lettered list to the gods was presented

(The list of what Fate for each mortal intends), At the long string of ills a kind goddess relented, And slipped in three blessings, wife, chil

dren, and friends.

In vain surly Pluto maintained he was cheated, For justice divine could not compass its ends; The scheme of man's penance he swore was defeated,

For earth becomes heaven with-wife, children, and friends.

If the stock of our bliss is in stranger hands vested,

The fund, ill secured, oft in bankruptcy ends; But the heart issues bills which are never protested,

When drawn on the firm of-wife, children, and friends.

Though valor still glows in his life's dying embers,

The death-wounded tar, who his colors defends, Drops a tear of regret as he dying remembers How blessed was his home with wife, children, and friends.

The soldier, whose deeds live immortal in story, Whom duty to far distant latitudes sends, With transport would barter whole ages of glory For one happy day with- wife, children, and friends.

ever freshen and

nourish The laurel which o'er the dead favorite bends; O'er me wave the willow, and long may it

flourish,

[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

It had rained in the night, and all the wood
Was wet as it could be;

There were puddings and pies to bake, besides
A loaf of cake for tea.

And the day was hot, and her aching head
Throbbed wearily as she said,

"If maidens but knew what good wives know,
They would not be in haste to wed!"

"Jennie, what do you think I told Ben Brown ?"
Called the farmer from the well;
And a flush crept up to his bronzèd brow,
And his eyes half-bashfully fell.

"It was this," he said, and coming near He smiled, and stooping down, Kissed her cheek,

the best

THE WORN WEDDING-RING.

"'t was this, that you were YOUR wedding-ring wears thin, dear wi e; ab,

And the dearest wife in town!"

The farmer went back to the field, and the wife, In a smiling, absent way,

Sang suatches of tender little songs

She'd not sung for many a day.

And the pain in her head was gone, and the

clothes

Were white as the foam of the sea;

Her bread was light, and her butter was sweet, And as golden as it could be.

[blocks in formation]

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

When, thanks to God, your low, sweet "Yes" made you my loving wife!

"Just think," the children all called in a breath, Your heart will say the same, I know; that

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

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

And O, when death shall come at last to bid me to my rest,

May I die looking in those eyes, and resting on that breast;

O, may my parting gaze be blessed with the dear sight of you,

[blocks in formation]
[ocr errors]

Than Egypt's river; from that gentle side Of those fond eyes, - fond as they were when Drink, drink and live, old man! Heaven's realm

this old ring was new!

WILLIAM COX BENNETT.

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.

JOHN ANDERSON, my jo, John,

When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven,

Your bonny 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 monie 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.

ROBERT BURNS.

holds no such tide.

The starry fable of the milky-way
Has not thy story's purity; it is
A constellation of a sweeter ray,

And sacred Nature triumphs more in this
Reverse of her decree, than in the abyss
Where sparkle distant worlds: - O, holiest
nurse!

No drop of that clear stream its way shall miss To thy sire's heart, replenishing its source With life, as our freed souls rejoin the universe.

ROCK ME TO SLEEP.

BYRON.

BACKWARD, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,

Make me a child again just for to-night!
Mother, come back from the the echoless shore,
Take me again to your heart as of yore ;
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair ;
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep; —
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep!

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]
« VorigeDoorgaan »