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Nor mirth, nor sweetest song that flows
Even while I muse, I see thee sit
We stayed and wooed, and thought the moon
Or lingered mid the falling dew,
Though I see smiling at thy feet
O, when more thought we gave, of old,
At times there come, as come there ought,
THE POET'S SONG TO HIS WIFE.
How many summers, love,
Time, like the winged wind When 't bends the flowers, Hath left no mark behind,
To count the hours!
Some weight of thought, though loath, On thee he leaves;
Some lines of care round both
Perhaps he weaves;
Some fears, a soft regret
For joys scarce known; Sweet looks we half forget;
All else is flown!
Ah!-With what thankless heart
Look, where our children start,
With tongues all sweet and low
IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE, MY LOVE.
If thou, my love, wert by my side,
How gayly would our pinnace glide
I miss thee at the dawning gray,
I miss thee when by Gunga's stream
I spread my books, my pencil try,
But when at morn and eve the star
I feel, though thou art distant far,
Then on then on! where duty leads,
O'er broad Hindostan's sultry meads,
That course nor Delhi's kingly gates, Nor mild Malwah detain;
For sweet the bliss us both awaits
By yonder western main.
Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say, Across the dark blue sea;
But ne'er were hearts so light and gay
As then shall meet in thee!
JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. JOHN ANDERSON, my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither; And mony a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither. Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go : And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo.
And, love, what changes we have seen,
cares and pleasures, too,
Though cares we've known, with hopeful hearts the worst we've struggled through;
Since you became my own dear wife, when this Blessed be his name for all his love since this
old ring was new!
Your aged eyes will see in mine all they've still shown to you,
Mild is Maire bhan astór,
Mine is Maire bhan astór,
And mine in yours all they have seen since this old ring was new.
O FAIREST of creation, last and best Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet! How art thou lost, how on a sudden lost, Defaced, deflowered, and now to death devote! Rather, how hast thou yielded to transgress The strict forbiddance, how to violate
The sacred fruit forbidden! Some curséd fraud
How can I live without thee, how forego
And too impatiently stamped with your foot:
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep,
POR. Brutus is wise, and were he not in health, He would embrace the means to come by it.
BRU. Why, so I do :-good Portia, go to bed. POR. Is Brutus sick, —and is it physical To walk unbraced, and suck up the humors Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, To dare the vile contagion of the night, And tempt the rheumy and unpurgéd air To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus ; You have some sick offence within your mind, Which, by the right and virtue of my place, I ought to know of: And upon my knees I charm you, by my once commended beauty, By all your vows of love, and that great vow Which did incorporate and make us one, That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, Why you are heavy; and what men to-night Have had resort to you, for here have been Some six or seven, who did hide their faces Even from darkness.
Kneel not, gentle Portia. POR. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,
To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the
Of your good pleasure? If it be no more,
BRU. You are my true and honorable wife;
POR. If this were true, then should I know
I grant I am a woman; but, withal,
A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife :
Why, now, you no longer are fatal, but ugly and And immortal as every great soul is that strughateful, I swear."
At which she laughed out in her scorn, men! O, these men overnice,
gles, endures, and fulfils.
"These "I love my Walter profoundly, -you, Maude, though you faltered a week,
Who are shocked if a color not virtuous is frankly For the sake of... what was it? an eyebrow ? or,
put on by a vice."
Her eyes blazed upon him
"And you! You bring us your vices so near That we smell them! You think in our presence a thought 't would defame us to hear!
"What reason had you, and what right, — I appeal to your soul from my life,
less still, a mole on a cheek?
"And since, when all's said, you 're too noble to stoop to the frivolous cant
About crimes irresistible, virtues that swindle, betray, and supplant,
"I determined to prove to yourself that, whate'er you might dream or avow
To find me too fair as a woman? Why, sir, I am By illusion, you wanted precisely no more of me
pure, and a wife.
than you have now.
["In the Parish of St. Neots, Cornwall, is a well, arched over with the robes of four kinds of trees, withy, oak, elm, and ash, — and dedicated to St. Keyne. The reported virtue of the water is this, that, whether husband or wife first drink thereof, they get the mastery thereby."- FULLER.]
A WELL there is in the West country,