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Gone, gone, — sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
O, when weary, sad, and slow,
From the fields at night they go,
Faint with toil, and racked with pain,
To their cheerless homes again,
There no brother's voice shall greet them,-
There no father's welcome meet them.
Gone, gone,

sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters,
Woe is me, my stolen daughters !

Gone, gone,

sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lonc,
Toiling through the weary day,
And at night the spoiler's prey.
O that they had earlier died,
Sleeping calmly, side by side,
Where the tyrant's power is o'er,
And the fetter galls no more !
Gone, gone,

sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters,
Woe is me, my stolen daughters !
Gone, gone, — sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
By the holy love He beareth,
By the bruised reed He spareth,
0, may He, to whom alone
All their cruel wrongs are known,
Still their hope and refuge prove,
With a more than mother's love.

Gone, gone, — sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters,
Woe is me, my stolen daughters !

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

Gone, gone, - sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dauk and lone,
From the tree whose shadow lay
On their childhood's place of play,
From the cool spring where they drank,
Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank,
From the solemn house of prayer,
And the holy counsels there,

Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters,
Woe is me, my stolen daughters !

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By those tresses unconfined,
Wooed by each Ægean wind ;
By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge ;
By those wild eyes like the roe,

Ζώη μου σάς αγαπω

O MY Luve's like a red, red rose

That's newly sprung in June : O my Luve's like the melodie

That 's sweetly played in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in luve am I: And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a' the seas gang dry : Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear,

And the rocks melt wi' the sun; I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only Luve !

And fare thee weel awhile ! And I will come again, my Luve,

Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

By that lip I long to taste ;
By that zone-encircled waist ;
By all the token-flowers that tell
What words can never speak so well;
By love's alternate joy and woe,

Ζώη μου σας αγαπώ

Maid of Athens ! I am gone.
Think of me, sweet! when alone.
Though I fly to Istambol,
Athens holds my heart and soul :
Can I cease to love thee? No!

Ζώη μου σας αγαπώ

ROBERT BURNS.

BYRON

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Nor need I write -- to tell the tale

My pen were doubly weak: O, what can idle words avail,

Unless the heart could speak ?

* My life, I love thee.

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“Believe not what the landmen say

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind :
They 'll tell thee sailors, when away,

In every port a mistress find :
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For Thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

ADIEU, ADIEU ! OUR DREAM OF LOVE- "If to fair India's coast we sail,

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, ADIEC, adieu! our dream of love

Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, Was far too sweet to linger long;

Thy skin is ivory so white. Such hopes may bloom in bowers above,

Thus every beauteous object that I view But here they mock the fond and young. Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. We met in hope, we part in tears ! Yet 0, 't is sadly sweet to know

“Though battle call me from thy arms, That life, in all its future years,

Let not my pretty Susan mourn ; Can reach us with no heavier blow !

Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms

William shall to his dear return. The hour is come, the spell is past;

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, Far, far from thee, my only love,

Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye." Youth's earliest hope, and manhood's last, My darkened spirit turns to rove.

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The sails their swelling bosom spread ; Adieu, adieu! 0, dull and dread

No longer must she stay aboard ; Sinks on the ear that parting knell !

They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head. Hope and the dreams of love lie dead, Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land; To them and thee, farewell, farewell ! “Adieu !” she cries; and waved her lily hand.

JOHN GAY.

THOMAS K. HERVEY.

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O kiss me ere we part;

But give the cock a blow Grow closer to my heart.

Who did begin our woe !"

ANONYMOUS (Chinese). Translation My heart is warmer surely than the bosom of the

of WILLIAM R. ALGER. main. O joy! O bliss of blisses !

My heart of hearts art thou. Come, bathe me with thy kisses,

THE PARTING OF ROMEO AND JULIET. My eyelids and my brow. Hark how the wild rain hisses,

JULIET. Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near And the loud sea roars below.

day :

It was the nightingale, and not the lark, Thy heart beats through thy rosy limbs, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; So gladly doth it stir ;

Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree : Thine eye in drops of gladness swims. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

I have bathed thee with the pleasant myrrh; Romeo. It was the lark, the herald of the Thy locks are dripping balm ;

morn, Thou shalt not wander hence to-night, No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks I 'll stay thee with my kisses.

Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east : To-night the roaring brine

Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Will rend thy golden tresses ;

Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. The ocean with the morrow light

I must be gone and live, or stay and die. Will be both blue and calm ;

JULIET. Yon light is not daylight, I know And the billow will embrace thee with a kiss as it, I : soft as mine.

It is some meteor, that the sun exhales,

To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
No Western odors wander

And light thee on thy way to Mantua :
On the black and moaning sea,

Therefore stay yet, - thou need’st not be gone. And when thou art dead, Leander,

Romeo. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to My soul must follow thee!

death ; 0, go not yet, my love,

I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
Thy voice is sweet and low;

I'll say, yon gray is not the morning's eye, The deep salt wave breaks in above 'T is but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Those marble steps below.

Nor that is not the lark, wliose notes do beat The turret-stairs are wet

The vaulty heaven so high above our heads : That lead into the sea.

I have more care to stay than will to go ; Leander ! go not yet.

Come, death, and welcome ! Juliet wills it so. — The pleasant stars have set :

How is't, my soul ? let's talk, it is not day. 0, go not, go not yet,

JULIET. It is, it hie hence, be gone, away!
Or I will follow thee.

It is the lark that sings so out tune,
ALFRED TENNYSON.

Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps.
Some say, the lark makes sweet division ;

This doth not so, for she divideth us :
THE PARTING LOVERS.

Some say, the lark and loathéd toad change

eyes : “The cock crows, — hark !” 0, now I would they had changed voices too! He says, “No! still 't is dark."

Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,

Hunting thee hence, with hunts-up to the day. She says, “The dawn grows bright," 0, now be gone ; more light and light it grows. He says “O no, my Light."

Romeo. More light and light,

more dark

and dark our woes.
She
says,
“Stand up and say,

JULIET. Then, window, let day in, and let
Gets not the heaven gray?"

life out.

ROMEO. Farewell, farewell ! one kiss, and I'll He says, “The morning star

descend.

(Descends.) Climbs the horizon's bar."

Juliet. Art thou gone so? my love ! my

lord ! my friend ! She says, “Then quick depart :

I must hear from thee every day i' the hour, Alas! you now must start;

For in a minute there are many days :

She says,

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