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the calm is o'er;
The wanton water leaps in sport,
And rattles down the pebbly shore;
The dolphin wheels, the sea-cows snort,
And unseen Mermaids' pearly song
Comes bubbling up, the weeds among.
Fling broad the sail, dip deep the oar:
To sea, to sea! the calm is o'er.

To sea, to sea! Our wide-winged bark
Shall billowy cleave its sunny way,
And with its shadow, fleet and dark,
Break the caved Tritons' azure day,
Like mighty eagle soaring light
O'er antelopes on Alpine height.
The anchor heaves, the ship swings free,
The sails swell full. To sea, to sea!


_SONG._

My goblet's golden lips are dry,
And, as the rose doth pine
For dew, so doth for wine
My goblet's cup;
Rain, O! rain, or it will die;
Rain, fill it up!

Arise, and get thee wings to-night,
Ętna! and let run o'er
Thy wines, a hill no more,
But darkly frown
A cloud, where eagles dare not soar,
Dropping rain down.


_SONG._

FROM "THE SECOND BROTHER."

Strew not earth with empty stars,
Strew it not with roses,
Nor feathers from the crest of Mars,
Nor summer's idle posies.
'T is not the primrose-sandalled moon,
Nor cold and silent morn,
Nor he that climbs the dusty noon,
Nor mower war with scythe that drops,
Stuck with helmed and turbaned tops
Of enemies new shorn.
Ye cups, ye lyres, ye trumpets know,
Pour your music, let it flow,
'T is Bacchus' son who walks below.


_SONG, BY TWO VOICES._

FROM "THE BRIDES' TRAGEDY."

FIRST VOICE.

Who is the baby, that doth lie
Beneath the silken canopy
Of thy blue eye?

SECOND.

It is young Sorrow, laid asleep
In the crystal deep.

BOTH.

Let us sing his lullaby,
Heigho! a sob and a sigh.

FIRST VOICE.

What sound is that, so soft, so clear,
Harmonious as a bubbled tear
Bursting, we hear?

SECOND.

It is young Sorrow, slumber breaking,
Suddenly awaking.

BOTH.

Let us sing his lullaby,
Heigho! a sob and a sigh.

[Decoration]


_SONG._

FROM "TORRISMOND."

How many times do I love thee, dear?
Tell me how many thoughts there be
In the atmosphere
Of a new-fall'n year,
Whose white and sable hours appear
The latest flake of Eternity:--
So many times do I love thee, dear.

How many times do I love again?
Tell me how many beads there are
In a silver chain
Of evening rain,
Unravelled from the tumbling main,
And threading the eye of a yellow star:--
So many times do I love again.


[Illustration: Full-page Plate]




[Decoration]

WILLIAM COX BENNETT.

1820


_CRADLE SONG._

Sleep! the bird is in its nest;
Sleep! the bee is hushed in rest;
Sleep! rocked on thy mother's breast!
Lullaby!
To thy mother's fond heart pressed,
Lullaby!

Sleep! the waning daylight dies;
Sleep! the stars dream in the skies;
Daisies long have closed their eyes;
Lullaby!
Calm, how calm on all things lies!
Lullaby!

Sleep then, sleep! my heart's delight!
Sleep! and through the darksome night
Round thy bed God's angels bright
Lullaby!
Guard thee till I come with light!
Lullaby!

[Decoration]


_MY ROSES BLOSSOM THE WHOLE YEAR ROUND._

My roses blossom the whole year round;
For, O they grow on enchanted ground;
Divine is the earth
Where they spring to birth;
On dimpling cheeks with love and mirth,
They 're found
They 're ever found.

My lilies no change of seasons heed;
Nor shelter from storms or frosts they need;
For, O they grow
On a neck of snow,
Nor all the wintry blasts that blow
They heed,
They ever heed.


_CRADLE SONG._

Lullaby! O lullaby!
Baby, hush that little cry!
Light is dying,
Bats are flying,
Bees to-day with work have done;
So, till comes the morrow's sun,
Let sleep kiss those bright eyes dry!
Lullaby! O lullaby!

Lullaby! O lullaby!
Hushed are all things far and nigh;
Flowers are closing,
Birds reposing,
All sweet things with life have done;
Sweet, till dawns the morning sun,
Sleep then kiss those blue eyes dry!
Lullaby! O lullaby!

[Decoration]




[Decoration]

F. W. BOURDILLON.

1852.


_LOVE'S MEINIE._

There is no summer ere the swallows come,
Nor Love appears,
Till Hope, Love's light-winged herald, lifts the gloom
Of years.

There is no summer left when swallows fly,
And Love at last,
When hopes which filled its heaven droop and die,
Is past.


_THE NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES._

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

[Decoration]


[Illustration: Full-page Plate]




_A LOST VOICE._

A thousand voices fill my ears
All day until the light grows pale;
But silence falls when night-time nears,
And where art thou, sweet nightingale?

Was that thine echo, faint and far?
Nay, all is hushed as heaven above;
In earth no voice, in heaven no star,
And in my heart no dream of love.

[Decoration]




[Decoration]

ROBERT BUCHANAN.

_SERENADE._

Sleep sweet, belovėd one, sleep sweet!
Without here night is growing,
The dead leaf falls, the dark boughs meet,
And a chill wind is blowing.
Strange shapes are stirring in the night,
To the deep breezes wailing,
And slow, with wistful gleams of light,
The storm-tost moon is sailing.

Sleep sweet, belovėd one, sleep sweet!
Fold thy white hands, my blossom!
Thy warm limbs in thy lily sheet,
Thy hands upon thy bosom.
Though evil thoughts may walk the dark,
Not one shall near thy chamber;
But shapes divine shall pause to mark,
Singing to lutes of amber.

Sleep sweet, belovėd one, sleep sweet!
Though, on thy bosom creeping,
Strange hands are laid, to feel the beat
Of thy soft heart in sleeping.
The brother angels, Sleep and Death,
Stop by thy couch and eye thee;
And Sleep stoops down to drink thy breath,
While Death goes softly by thee!

[Decoration]


_SONG._

FROM "LOVE IN WINTER."

"O Love is like the roses,
And every rose shall fall,
For sure as summer closes
They perish one and all.
Then love, while leaves are on the tree,
And birds sing in the bowers:
When winter comes, too late 't will be
To pluck the happy flowers."

"O Love is like the roses,
Love comes, and Love must flee!
Before the summer closes
Love's rapture and Love's glee!"

[Decoration]




[Decoration]

MORTIMER COLLINS.

1827-1876.


_TO F. C._

20th February 1875.

Fast falls the snow, O lady mine,
Sprinkling the lawn with crystals fine,
But by the gods we won't repine
While we 're together,
We 'll chat and rhyme and kiss and dine,
Defying weather.

So stir the fire and pour the wine,
And let those sea-green eyes divine
Pour their love-madness into mine:
I don't care whether
'T is snow or sun or rain or shine
If we 're together.


_A GAME OF CHESS._

Terrace and lawn are white with frost,
Whose fretwork flowers upon the panes--
A mocking dream of summer, lost
'Mid winter's icy chains.

White-hot, indoors, the great logs gleam,
Veiled by a flickering flame of blue:
I see my love as in a dream--
Her eyes are azure, too.

She puts her hair behind her ears
(Each little ear so like a shell),
Touches her ivory Queen, and fears
She is not playing well.

For me, I think of nothing less:
I think how those pure pearls become her--
And which is sweetest, winter chess
Or garden strolls in summer.

[Illustration: Full-page Plate]

O linger, frost, upon the pane!
O faint blue flame, still softly rise!
O, dear one, thus with me remain,
That I may watch thine eyes!

[Decoration]


_MULTUM IN PARVO._

A little shadow makes the sunrise sad,
A little trouble checks the race of joy,
A little agony may drive men mad,
A little madness may the soul destroy:
Such is the world's annoy.

Ay, and the rose is but a little flower
Which the red Queen of all the garden is:
And Love, which lasteth but a little hour,
A moment's rapture and a moment's kiss,
Is what no man would miss.


_VIOLETS AT HOME._

I.

O happy buds of violet!
I give thee to my sweet, and she
Puts them where something sweeter yet
Must always be.

II.

White violets find whiter rest:
For fairest flowers how fair a fate!
For me remain, O fragrant breast!
Inviolate.


_MY THRUSH._

All through the sultry hours of June,
From morning blithe to golden noon,
And till the star of evening climbs
The gray-blue East, a world too soon,
There sings a Thrush amid the limes.

God's poet, hid in foliage green,
Sings endless songs, himself unseen;
Right seldom come his silent times.
Linger, ye summer hours serene!
Sing on, dear Thrush, amid the limes.

· · · · · · ·

May I not dream God sends thee there,
Thou mellow angel of the air,
Even to rebuke my earthlier rhymes
With music's soul, all praise and prayer?
Is that thy lesson in the limes?

Closer to God art thou than I:
His minstrel thou, whose brown wings fly
Through silent ęther's sunnier climes.
Ah, never may thy music die!
Sing on, dear Thrush, amid the limes!

[Decoration]




[Decoration]

DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK.

1826-1887.


_TOO LATE._

_"Dowglas, Dowglas, tendir and treu."_

Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas,
In the old likeness that I knew,
I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

Never a scornful word should grieve ye,
I 'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do;--
Sweet as your smile on me shone ever,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

O to call back the days that are not!
My eyes were blinded, your words were few:
Do you know the truth now up in heaven,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true?

I never was worthy of you, Douglas;
Not half worthy the like of you:
Now all men beside seem to me like shadows--
I love _you_, Douglas, tender and true.

Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas,
Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew;
As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

[Decoration]


_A SILLY SONG._

"O heart, my heart!" she said, and heard
His mate the blackbird calling,
While through the sheen of the garden green
May rain was softly falling,--
Aye softly, softly falling.

The buttercups across the field
Made sunshine rifts of splendour:
The round snow-bud of the thorn in the wood
Peeped through its leafage tender,
As the rain came softly falling.

"O heart, my heart!" she said and smiled,
"There 's not a tree of the valley,
Or a leaf I wis which the rain's soft kiss
Freshens in yonder alley,
Where the drops keep ever falling,--

"There 's not a foolish flower i' the grass,
Or bird through the woodland calling,
So glad again of the coming rain
As I of these tears now falling,--
These happy tears down falling."

[Decoration]




[Decoration]

GEORGE DARLEY.

1795-1846.


_MAY DAY._

FROM "SYLVIA": _Act III.



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