IF thou dost bid thy friend farewell, But for one night though that farewell may be, Press thou his hand in thine. How canst thou tell how far from thee Fate or caprice may lead his steps ere that to-morrow comes? Men have been known to lightly turn the corner of a street, And days have grown to months, and months to lagging years, Ere they have looked in loving eyes again. Parting, at best, is underlaid With tears and pain. Therefore, lest sudden death should come between, Or time, or distance, clasp with pressure firm The hand of him who goeth forth; Unseen, Fate goeth too. Yes, find thou always time to say some earnest word Between the idle talk, Lest with thee henceforth, Night and day, regret should walk, COVENTRY PATMORE. Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves off the tree? O gentle death, when wilt thou come? For of my life I'm weary. 'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, Nor blawing snaw's inclemency; "T is not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my love's heart grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow town, We were a comely sight to see; My love was clad in the black velvet, And I mysell in cramasie. But had I wist, before I kissed, That love had been sae ill to win, I'd locked my heart in a case of gold, And pinned it with a silver pin. Oh, oh, if my young babe were born, And the green grass growin' over me! ANONYMOUS. LADY ANN BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. A SCOTTISH SONG. BALOW, my babe, ly stil and sleipe! Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe! When he began to court my luve, Ly stil, my darlinge, sleipe awhile, I cannae chuse, but ever will In weil or wae, whaireir he gae, But doe not, doe not, prettie mine, Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane, Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth ANONYMOUS, MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILAJ A My heid is like to rend, Willie, I'm dyin' for your sake! It 's vain to comfort me, Willie, Sair grief maun ha'e its will; But let me rest upon your briest To sab and greet my fill. Let me sit on your knee, Willie, Let me shed by your hair, And look into the face, Willie, I never sall see mair! I'm sittin' on your knee, Willie, Ay, press your hand upon my heart, O, wae's me for the hour, Willie, That gart me luve thee sae! O, dinna mind my words, Willie, But O, it's hard to live, Willie, And dree a warld's shame! I'm weary o' this warld, Willie, I canna live as I ha'e lived, Or be as I should be. But fauld unto your heart, Willie, The heart that still is thine, And kiss ance mair the white, white cheek A stoun' gaes through my heid, Willie, O, haud me up and let me kiss Thy brow ere we twa pairt. Anither, and anither yet! How fast my life-strings break! Fareweel fareweel! through yon kirk-yard Step lichtly for my sake! The lav'rock in the lift, Willie, That lilts far ower our heid, Will sing the morn as merrilie Abune the clay-cauld deid; Wi' dew-draps shimmerin' sheen, But O, remember me, Willie, On land where'er ye be ; And O, think on the leal, leal heart, And O, think on the cauld, cauld mools That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. A WOMAN'S LOVE. A SENTINEL angel, sitting high in glory, Heard this shrill wail ring out from Purgatory: "Have mercy, mighty angel, hear my story! "I loved, and, blind with passionate love, I fell. Love brought me down to death, and death to Hell; For God is just, and death for sin is well. "I do not rage against his high decree, "Great Spirit! Let me see my love again Then said the pitying angel, “ Nay, repent But still she wailed, "I pray thee, let me go! The brazen gates ground sullenly ajar, BEREAVEMENT AND RESIGNATION. But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, And beautiful with all the soul's expansion But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair! The air is full of farewells to the dying, The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Let us be patient! These severe afflictions But oftentimes celestial benedictions We see but dimly through the mists and vapors; What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps. Shall we behold her face. And though, at times, impetuous with emotion The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, We will be patient, and assuage the feeling By silence sanctifying, not concealing, HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. BURIED TO-DAY. BURIED to-day. When the soft green buds are bursting out, There is no Death! What seems so is transition: Of village boys and girls at play This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, In the mild spring evening gray. Another body in churchyard sod, DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK. GRIEF FOR THE DEAD. O HEARTS that never cease to yearn! |