Not thrice your branching lines have blown Since I beheld young Laurence dead. O your sweet eyes, your low replies: A great enchantress you may be; But there was that across his throat Which you had hardly cared to see. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, When thus he met his mother's view, She had the passions of her kind, She spake some certain truths of you. Indeed I heard one bitter word That scarce is fit for you to hear; Her manners had not that repose Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, There stands a spectre in your hall: The guilt of blood is at your door: You changed a wholesome heart to gall. You held your course without remorse, To make him trust his modest worth, And, last, you fixed a vacant stare, And slew him with your noble birth. Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, From yon blue heavens above us bent The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent. Howe'er it be, it seems to me, "T is only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets, I know you, Clara Vere de Vere: You pine among your halls and towers: The languid light of your proud eyes Is wearied of the rolling hours. In glowing health, with boundless wealth, But sickening of a vague disease, You know so ill to deal with time, You needs must play such pranks as these. Clara, Clara Vere de Vere, If Time be heavy on your hands, Are there no beggars at your gate, Nor any poor about your lands? Oh! teach the orphan-boy to read, Or teach the orphan-girl to sew, Pray Heaven for a human heart, And let the foolish yeoman go. ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. LINDA TO HAFED. 66 FROM THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS." "How sweetly," said the trembling maid, Of her own gentle voice afraid, So long had they in silence stood, Looking upon that moonlight flood,— To-night upon yon leafy isle! Oft in my fancy's wanderings, I've wished that little isle had wings, And we, within its fairy bowers, Were wafted off to seas unknown, A paradise so pure and lonely! Would this be world enough for thee?"- His eyes met hers, that smile was gone; I knew, I knew it could not last, "T was bright, 't was heavenly, but 't is past! O, ever thus, from childhood's hour, I've seen my fondest hopes decay; I never loved a tree or flower But 't was the first to fade away. I never nursed a dear gazelle, Of all I ever dreamt or knew, To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine,- THOMAS MOORE. LOVE NOT. LOVE not, love not, ye hapless sons of clay! ers, Things that are made to fade and fall away Ere they have blossomed for a few short hours. Love not! Love not! the thing ye love may change; Love not! the thing you love may die,- Love not! O warning vainly said In present hours as in years gone by! Love flings a halo round the dear one's head, Faultless, immortal, till they change or die. Love not! CAROLINE ELIZABETH SHERIDAN. (HON. MRS. NORTON.) THE Princess sat lone in her maiden bower, The lad blew his horn at the foot of the tower. "Why playest thou alway? Be silent, I pray, It fetters my thoughts that would flee far away. As the sun goes down." In her maiden bower sat the Princess forlorn, The lad had ceased to play on his horn. "Oh, why art thou silent? I beg thee to play! It gives wings to my thought that would flee far away, As the sun goes down." In her maiden bower sat the Princess forlorn, Once more with delight played the lad on his horn. She wept as the shadows grew long, and she sighed: "Oh, tell me, my God, what my heart doth betide, Now the sun has gone down." From the Norwegian of BJÖRNSTJERNE BJÖRNSON. 66 UNREQUITED LOVE. FROM TWELFTH NIGHT," ACT I. SC. 4. VIOLA. Ay, but I know, DUKE.-What dost thou know? VIOLA.-Too well what love women to men may owe: |