But I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, And sadly sang the Birde as it perched upon a bier; That joyous smile was gone, And the face was white and wan, As the downe upon the Swan As I laye a-thynkynge-oh! bitter flowed the tear! As I laye a-thynkynge, the golden sun was sinking, While, soaring to the skies, 'Mid the stars she seemed to rise, As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, It boots not to delay," 'Twas so she seemed to saye, "HERE IS REST!" Richard Harris Barham [1788-1845] THE HARP OF SORROW SORROW has a harp of seven strings And plays on it unceasing all the day; The first string sings of love that is long dead, The third of happiness forgot and fled. Ethel Clifford [18 THE JOURNEY ONWARDS Her trembling pennant still looked back To that dear Isle 'twas leaving. When, round the bowl, of vanished years With smiles, that might as well be tears, And when, in other climes, we meet We think how great had been our bliss As travelers oft look back at eve When eastward darkly going, SONG Thomas Moore [1779-1852] IN LEINSTER I TRY to knead and spin, but my life is low the while. Why from me that's young should the wild tears fall? The shower-sodden earth, the earth-colored streams, They breathe on me awake, and moan to me in dreams, And yonder ivy fondling the broke castle-wall, It pulls upon my heart till the wild tears fall. The cabin-door looks down a furze-lighted hill, SPIRIT OF SADNESS SHE loved the Autumn, I the Spring, Some look in all things made her sigh, I hear her say it still in dreams. But when the day grew gray and old, Spirit of Sadness, in the spheres NO MORE THIS is the Burden of the Heart, And part to meet on earth No More: And part to meet on earth No More. There is a time for tears to start, For dews to fall and larks to soar: Byron Forceythe Willson [1837-1867] "TIS BUT A LITTLE FADED FLOWER" "Tis but a little faded flower, But oh, how fondly dear! "Twill bring me back one golden hour, Through many a weary year. I may not to the world impart The secret of its power, But treasured in my inmost heart, I keep my faded flower. Where is the heart that doth not keep, Within its inmost core, Some fond remembrance, hidden deep, Of days that are no more? Who hath not saved some trifling thing More prized than jewels rare—— A faded flower, a broken ring, A tress of golden hair? Ellen Clementine Howarth [1827-1899] TO EACH HIS OWN EACH hath his drug for Sorrow For one, 'tis "Yesterday." And hast thou lost, my Brother?" "Yea, but in dreams I find." "And I" (so saith another) "Leave buried dead behind!" For each, when gyves are fretting, And some in memory. Margaret Root Garvin [18 SONG RARELY, rarely comest thou, Spirit of Delight! Wherefore hast thou left me now Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day 'Tis since thou art fled away. How shall ever one like me All but those who need thee not. As a lizard with the shade Of a trembling leaf, Thou with sorrow art dismayed; Even the sighs of grief Reproach thee, that thou art not near, And reproach thou wilt not hear. Let me set my mournful ditty To a merry measure: Thou wilt never come for pity, Thou wilt come for pleasure; Pity then will cut away Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay. |