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She comes,--at last, for Love's sweet sake!




King Death was a rare old fellow!
He sate where no sun could shine;
And he lifted his hand so yellow,
And poured out his coal-black wine.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!

There came to him many a Maiden,
Whose eyes had forgot to shine;
And Widows, with grief o'erladen,
For a draught of his sleepy wine.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!

The Scholar left all his learning;
The Poet his fancied woes;
And the Beauty her bloom returning,
As the beads of the black wine rose.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!

[Illustration: Full-page Plate]

All came to the royal old fellow,
Who laughed till his eyes dropped brine,
As he gave them his hand so yellow,
And pledged them in Death's black wine.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!



Sit down, sad soul, and count
The moments flying:
Come,--tell the sweet amount
That 's lost by sighing!
How many smiles?--a score?
Then laugh, and count no more;
For day is dying!

Lie down, sad soul, and sleep,
And no more measure
The flight of Time, nor weep
The loss of leisure;
But here, by this lone stream,
Lie down with us, and dream
Of starry treasure!

We dream: do thou the same:
We love--for ever:
We laugh; yet few we shame,
The gentle, never.
Stay, then, till Sorrow dies;
_Then_--hope and happy skies
Are thine for ever!



Drink, and fill the night with mirth!
Let us have a mighty measure,
Till we quite forget the earth,
And soar into the world of pleasure.
Drink, and let a health go round,
('T is the drinker's noble duty,)
To the eyes that shine and wound,
To the mouths that bud in beauty!

Here 's to Helen! Why, ah! why
Doth she fly from my pursuing?
Here 's to Marian, cold and shy!
May she warm before thy wooing!
Here 's to Janet! I 've been e'er,
Boy and man, her staunch defender,
Always sworn that she was fair,
Always _known_ that she was tender!

Fill the deep-mouthed glasses high!
Let them with the champagne tremble,
Like the loose wrack in the sky,
When the four wild winds assemble!
Here 's to all the love on earth,
(Love, the young man's, wise man's treasure!)
Drink, and fill your throats with mirth!
Drink, and drown the world in pleasure!



Peace! what can tears avail?
She lies all dumb and pale,
And from her eye,
The spirit of lovely life is fading,
And she must die!
Why looks the lover wroth? the friend upbraiding?
Reply, reply!

Hath she not dwelt too long
'Midst pain, and grief, and wrong?
Then, why not die?
Why suffer again her doom of sorrow,
And hopeless lie?
Why nurse the trembling dream until to-morrow?
Reply, reply!

Death! Take her to thine arms,
In all her stainless charms,
And with her fly
To heavenly haunts, where, clad in brightness,
The Angels lie!
Wilt bear her there, O Death! in all her whiteness?




The Sea! the Sea! the open Sea!
The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
Without a mark, without a bound,
It runneth the earth's wide regions 'round;
It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies;
Or like a cradled creature lies.

I 'm on the Sea! I 'm on the Sea!
I am where I would ever be;
With the blue above, and the blue below,
And silence wheresoe'er I go;
If a storm should come and awake the deep,
What matter? _I_ shall ride and sleep.

I love (oh! _how_ I love) to ride
On the fierce foaming bursting tide,
When every mad wave drowns the moon,
Or whistles aloft his tempest tune,
And tells how goeth the world below,
And why the south-west blasts do blow.

I never was on the dull tame shore,
But I loved the great Sea more and more,
And backwards flew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest;
And a mother she _was_, and _is_ to me;
For I was born on the open Sea!

The waves were white, and red the morn,
In the noisy hour when I was born;
And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;
And never was heard such an outcry wild
As welcomed to life the Ocean-child!

I 've lived since then, in calm and strife,
Full fifty summers a sailor's life,
With wealth to spend and a power to range,
But never have sought, nor sighed for change;
And Death, whenever he come to me,
Shall come on the wild unbounded Sea!





When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress-tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.



O roses for the flush of youth,
And laurel for the perfect prime;
But pluck an ivy branch for me
Grown old before my time.

O violets for the grave of youth,
And bay for those dead in their prime;
Give me the withered leaves I chose
Before in the old time.



Two doves upon the selfsame branch,
Two lilies on a single stem,
Two butterflies upon one flower:--
O happy they who look on them.

Who look upon them hand in hand
Flushed in the rosy summer light;
Who look upon them hand in hand
And never give a thought to night.



"A cup for hope!" she said,
In springtime ere the bloom was old:
The crimson wine was poor and cold
By her mouth's richer red.

"A cup for love!" how low,
How soft the words; and all the while
Her blush was rippling with a smile
Like summer after snow.

"A cup for memory!"
Cold cup that one must drain alone:
While autumn winds are up and moan
Across the barren sea.

Hope, memory, love:
Hope for fair morn, and love for day,
And memory for the evening gray
And solitary dove.





A little while a little love
The hour yet bears for thee and me
Who have not drawn the veil to see
If still our heaven be lit above.
Thou merely, at the day's last sigh,
Hast felt thy soul prolong the tone;
And I have heard the night-wind cry
And deemed its speech mine own.

A little while a little love
The scattering autumn hoards for us
Whose bower is not yet ruinous
Nor quite unleaved our songless grove.
Only across the shaken boughs
We hear the flood-tides seek the sea,
And deep in both our hearts they rouse
One wail for thee and me.

A little while a little love
May yet be ours who have not said
The word it makes our eyes afraid
To know that each is thinking of.
Not yet the end: be our lips dumb
In smiles a little season yet:
I 'll tell thee, when the end is come,
How we may best forget.



I have been here before,
But when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
The sweet keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.

You have been mine before,--
How long ago I may not know:
But just when at that swallow's soar
Your neck turned so,
Some veil did fall,--I knew it all of yore.

Has this been thus before?
And shall not thus time's eddying flight
Still with our lives our loves restore
In death's despite,
And day and night yield one delight once more?


I looked and saw your eyes
In the shadow of your hair,
As a traveller sees the stream
In the shadow of the wood;
And I said, "My faint heart sighs,
Ah me! to linger there,
To drink deep and to dream
In that sweet solitude."

I looked and saw your heart
In the shadow of your eyes,
As a seeker sees the gold
In the shadow of the stream;
And I said, "Ah, me! what art
Should win the immortal prize,
Whose want must make life cold
And Heaven a hollow dream?"

[Illustration: Full-page Plate]

I looked and saw your love
In the shadow of your heart,
As a diver sees the pearl
In the shadow of the sea;
And I murmured, not above
My breath, but all apart,--
"Ah! you can love, true girl,
And is your love for me?"






Last time I parted from my Dear
The linnet sang from the briar-bush,
The throstle from the dell;
The stream too carolled full and clear,
It was the spring-time of the year,
And both the linnet and the thrush
I love them well
Since last I parted from my Dear.

But when he came again to me
The barley rustled high and low,
Linnet and thrush were still;
Yellowed the apple on the tree,
'T was autumn merry as it could be,
What time the white ships come and go
Under the hill;
They brought him back again to me,
Brought him safely o'er the sea.






A golden bee a-cometh
O'er the mere, glassy mere,
And a merry tale he hummeth
In my ear.

How he seized and kist a blossom,
From its tree, thorny tree,
Plucked and placed in Annie's bosom,
Hums the bee!


Back flies my soul to other years,
When thou that charming lay repeatest,
When smiles were only chased by tears,
Yet sweeter far than smiles the sweetest.

Thy music ends, and where are they?
Those golden times by memory cherished?
O, Syren, sing no more that lay,
Or sing till I like them have perished!



The Violet invited my kiss,--
I kissed it and called it my bride;
"Was ever one slighted like this?"
Sighed the Rose as it stood by my side.

My heart ever open to grief,
To comfort the fair one I turned;
"Of fickle ones thou art the chief!"
Frowned the Violet, and pouted and mourned.

Then, to end all disputes, I entwined
The love-stricken blossoms in one;
But that instant their beauty declined,
And I wept for the deed I had done!



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