Your aged eyes will see in mine all they've still shown to you, And mine in yours all they have seen since this old ring was new. Mild is Maire bhan astór, THOMAS DAVIS. I. And 0, when death shall come at last to bid me to my rest, May I die looking in those eyes, and resting on ADAM TO EVE. that breast; O, may my parting gaze be blessed with the dear O FAIREST of creation, last and best sight of you, Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Of those fond eyes, fond as they were when Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, this old ring was new ! Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet ! Defaced, deflowered, and now to death devote! The strict forbiddance, how to violate The sacred fruit forbidden! Some cursed fraud Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown, FAIR MARY, MY TREASURE.” And me with thee hath ruined, for with thee Certain my resolution is to die. In a valley far away How can I live without thee, how forego With my Maire bhan astór, Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined, Short would be the summer-day, To live again in these wild woods forlorn ? Ever loving more and more ; Should God create another Eve, and I Winter days would all grow long, Another rib afford, yet loss of thee With the light her heart would pour, Would never from my heart ; no, no, I feel With her kisses and her song, The link of nature draw me : flesh of flesh, And her loving mait go leór. Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe. Certain to undergo like doom ; if death Consort with thee, death is to me as life ; So forcible within my heart I feel The bond of nature draw me to my own, O, her sire is very proud, My own in thee, for what thou art is mine; And her mother cold as stone; Our state cannot be severed, we are one, But her brother bravely vowed One flesh ; to lose thee were to lose myself. She should be my bride alone ; For he knew I loved her well, And he knew she loved me too, PORTIA AND BRUTUS. JULIUS CÆSAR.” Portia. Brutus, my lord ! BRUTUS. Portia, what mean you ? Wherefore rise you now? It is not for your health thus to commit Your weak condition to the raw-cold morning. There are lands where manly toil Por. Nor for yours neither. You have un. Surely reaps it SOWS, gently, Brutus, Glorious woods and teeming soil, Stole from my bed : And yesternight, at supper, Where the broad Missouri flows; You suddenly arose, and walked about, Through the trees the smoke shall rise, Musing, and sighing, with your arins across ; From our hearth with mait go leor, And when I asked you what the matter was, There shall shine the happy eyes You stared upon me with ungentle looks : Of my Maire bhan astór. I urged you further; then you scratched your head, MILTON, FROM the crop II. "s because III. IV. V. It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep, “But why do you go?" said the lady, while both And, could it work so much upon your shape, sate under the yew, As it hath much prevailed on your condition, And her eyes were alive in their depth, as the I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord, kraken beneath the sea-blue. Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. BRU. I am not well in health, and that is all. “ Because I fear you," he answered ; Por. Brutus is wise, and were he not in health, you are far too fair, He would embrace the means to come by it. And able to strangle my soul in a mesh of your Bru. Why, so I do :- good Portia, go to bed. gold-colored hair." Por. Is Brutus sick, - and is it physical To walk unbraced, and suck up the humors Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, “O that,” she said, “is no reason ! Such knots And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, are quickly undone, To dare the vile contagion of the night, And too much beauty, I reckon, is nothing but too much sun. “the sunWhich, by the right and virtue of my place, stroke 's fatal at times. I onght to know of: And upon my knees I value your husband, Lord Walter, whose gallop I charm you, by my once commended beauty, rings still from the limes." 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, “O that,” she said, “is no reason. You smell Why you are heavy; and what men to-night a rose through a fence : Have had resort to you, for here have been If two should smell it, what matter? who grumSome six or seven, who did hide their faces bles, and where's the pretence ?”. Even from darkness. BRU. Kneel not, gentle Portia. Por. I should not need, if you were gentle “But I," he replied, “have promised another, when love was free, Brutus. Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, To love her alone, alone, who alone and afar loves Is it expected, I should know no secrets VII. "Why, that,” she said, “is no reason. Love's To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, always free, I am told. And talk to you sometimes ? Dwell I but in the Will you vow to be safe from the headache on suburbs Tuesday, and think it will hold ?” of your good pleasure ? If it be no more, Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. “But you,” he replied, “have a daughter, a Bru. You are my true and honorable wife; young little child, who was laid As dear to me, as are the ruddy drops In your lap to be pure; so I leave you : the an. That visit my sad heart. gels would make me afraid." Por. If this were true, then should I know this secret. I grant I am a woman ; but, withal, “O that,” she said, “is no reason. The angels A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife : keep out of the way ; I grant I am a woman; but, withal, And Dora, the child, observes nothing, although A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter. you should please me and stay." VI. me." VIII. IX. At which he rose up in his anger, 'Why, now, “Love's a virtue for heroes ! - as white as the you no longer are fair! snow on high hills, Why, now, you no longer are fatal, but ugly and And immortal as every great soul is that strughateful, I swear.' gles, endures, and fulfils. At which she laughed out in her scorn, —"These “I love my Walter profoundly, — you, Maude, men ! O, these men overnice, 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.” less still, a mole on a cheek ? Her eyes blazed upon him “And you ! You “ And since, when all's said, you 're too noble to bring us your vices so near stoop to the frivolous cant That we smell them ! You think in our presence About crimes irresistible, virtues that swindle, a thought 't would defame us to hear ! betray, and supplant, XXIII. “What reason had you, and what right, – I ap “ I determined to prove to yourself that, whate'er peal to your soul from my life, 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 than you have now. pure, and a wife. XIII. XVI. “Too fair?—not unless you misuse us! and surely XXVI. "You wronged me : but then I considered... if, once in a while, You attain to it, straightway you call us no longer too fair, but too vile. there's Walter! And so at the end, I vowed that he should not be mulcted, by me, in the hand of a friend. XXVII. XVII. “A moment, I pray your attention !- I have a poor word in my head I must utter, though womanly custom would set it down better unsaid. “Have I hurt you indeed ? We are quits then. Nay, friend of my Walter, be mine! Come, Dora, my darling, my angel, and help me. to ask him to dine." ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. XVIII. THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE. “You grew, sir, pale to impertinence, once when I showed you a ring. ter ! I've broken the thing. ("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.) XIX. “You did me the honor, perhaps, to be moved at my side now and then In the senses, - a vice, I have heard, which is common to beasts and some men. A WELL there is in the West country, And a clearer one never was seen ; There is not a wife in the West country But has heard of the well of St. Keyne. “I have left a good woman who never was here,” The stranger he made reply ; “But that my draught should be better for that, I pray you answer me why." “St.Keyne,"quoth the countryman,“many a time Drank of this crystal well, She laid on the water a spell. Shall drink before his wife, For he shall be master for life. Heaven help the husband then !" And drank of the waters again. “You drank of the well, I warrant, betimes ?" He to the countryman said. But the countryman smiled as the stranger spake, And sheepishly shook his head. “I hastened, as soon as the wedding was done, And left my wife in the porch. For she took a bottle to church." ROBERT SOUTHEY. This hearth 's our own, Our hearts are one, And peace is ours forever ! When I was poor, Your father's door Was closed against your constant lover, With care and pain, I tried in vain Where Fate may smile on me, love" Sing Gille machree, &c. I might have said, My mountain maid, Come live with me, your own true lover ; I know a spot, A silent cot, By one small garden only; An oak and an elm tree stand beside, And behind does an ash-tree grow, Droops to the water below. Pleasant it was to his eye, And there was not a cloud in the sky. He drank of the water so cool and clear, For thirsty and hot was he, And he sat down upon the bank, Under the willow-tree. There came a man from the nighboring town At the well to fill his pail, On the well-side he rested it, And bade the stranger hail. “Now art thou a bachelor, stranger ?” quoth he, “For an if thou hast a wife, The happiest draught thou hast drank this day That ever thou didst in thy life. In Cornwall ever been ? She has drank of the well of St. Keyne.” HOME. HOME, SWEET HOME. elsewhere. An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain ! than all ! JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. GILLE MACHREE. ENGLISH, BRIGHTENER OF MY HEART." Gille machrec, Sit down by me, Far, far away, By night and day, And golden gains Repaid my pains Thy father welcomed me, love ; Sing Gille machree Sit down by me, This hearth 's our own, Our hearts are one, And peace is ours forever. GERALD GRIFFIN. A WISH. MINE be a cot beside the hill; The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; Oft shall the pilgrim list the latch, And share my meal, a welcome guest. Around my ivied porch shall spring and blue. The village-church among the trees, SAMUEL ROGERS. THE QUIET LIFE. HAPPY the man, whose wish and care In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, In winter, fire. Blest, who can unconcern'dly find Quiet by day, Sound sleep by night; study and ease With meditation. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown ; Tell where I lie. ALEXANDER POPE. A SONG FOR THE “HEARTH AND HOME." Dark is the night, and fitful and drearily Rushes the wind like the waves of the sea : King, king, crown me the king : Flashes the firelight upon the dear faces, Dearer and dearer and onward we go, King, king, crown me the king : |
0 Отзывы Google не подтверждает отзывы, однако проверяет данные и удаляет недостоверную информацию. Написать отзыв |