DRINK TO ME ONLY WITH THINE EYES.
Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from my soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee,
As giving it a hope that there
It would not wither'd be ;
But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent it back to me;
Since then it grows and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.
Seek not to know the future,
Be happy while you may,
Nor cloud with dark foreknowledge
The sunshine of to-day.
I see that you are hopeful,
I read it in your eyes,
And I can learn no more from
The stars that gem the skies;
Trust not the outward seeming
Of all who speak you fair:
What has been, maiden, may be,
Be watchful! and beware!
I will not cheat you, maiden,
My gipsy skill you seek,
This only of the future
The gipsy girl can speak :-
When flippant worldlings flatter,
Let then your doubts begin,
Take, maiden, for your counsel
The "still small voice within:"
If weak the heart of woman,
Her stronghold, too, is there;
Guard then the fortress, conscience!
Be watchful! and beware!
When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom, is-to die.
UP IN THE MORNING OVER THE
Up in the morning, over the mountain,
Blithe as a bird, I take my way:
Now by the streamlet, now by the fountain,
Gaily I sing my roundelay.
Beautiful flowers spring up about me,
Filling with odours the balmy wind;
Care may pursue me, ah, never doubt me,
Tripping, I'll leave him, the churl, behind.
Autumn and springtime, winter and summer,
Each, in its turn, hath charms for me;
Either may go, I welcome the comer,
Glad in my heart of its company.
Bleak winds may wail, tempests may roar,
Green leaves may wither and flowers decay;
Clouds may be dark as if no more
Sunshine could drive their cold shadows away;
Yet in the morning, over the mountain,
Blithe as a bird I take my way;
Now by the streamlet, now by the fountain,
Gaily I sing my roundelay.
THE ROSE UPON MY BALCONY.
The rose upon my balcony,
The morning air perfuming,
Was leafless all the winter time
And pining for the spring;
You ask me why her breath is sweet,
And why her cheek is blooming,
It is because the sun is out
And birds begin to sing.
The nightingale, whose melody
Is through the greenwood ringing,
Was silent when the boughs were bare
And winds were blowing keen,
And if, mamma, you ask of me
The reason of his singing,
It is because the sun is out
And all the leaves are green.
Thus each performs his part, mamma,
The birds have found their voices,
The blowing rose a flush, mamma,
Her bonny cheek to dye.
There's sunshine in my heart, mamma,
Which wakens and rejoices,
And so I sing and blush, mamma,
And that's the reason why.
WHEN WE TWO PARTED. [LORD BYRON.]
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss!
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow;
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I know thee,
Who knew thee too well!
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met;
In silence I grieve
That my heart would forget,
Thy spirit deceive!
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears!
I thought the world was fair;
I saw but youth around me,
And flowers most sweet and rare;
Through floods of golden sunshine
The streamlets seemed to flow,
And sweet birds sung above me
Their anthems soft and low.
But, ah! how sad the waking
From flower, and bird, and stream,
But mem'ries of my childhood
Was that sweet, happy dream.
Again that dream of beauty
It came to me in sleep,
I thought that love and friendship
Could ne'er have cause to weep;
That truth was only spoken,
That hearts were ever true,
And that when beauty faded,
Love could not perish, too!
How sad again the waking,
"Twas hope's delusive beam;
I found that love and friendship
Were fleeting as a dream.
OH! SPEAK TO HER IN KINDNESS.
Speak! O speak to her in kindness!
And thy child will turn to thee;
|