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CHORUS.

Weep no more, my lady ; 0, weep no more

to-day ! We'll sing one song for my old Kentucky

home, For our old Kentucky home far away.

They hunt no more for the possum and the coon,

On the meadow, the hill, and the shore ; They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon,

On the bench by the old cabin door ; The day goes by, like a shadow o'er the heart,

With sorrow where all was delight; The time has come, when the darkeys have to part, Then, my old Kentucky home, good night!

Weep no more, my lady, &c. The head must bow, and the back will have to bend,

Wherever the darkey may go ; A few more days, and the troubles all will end,

In the field where the sugar-cane grow; A few more days to tote the weary load,

No matter it will never be light; A few more days till we totter on the road, Then, iny old Kentucky home, good night !

Weep no more, my lady, &c.

ANONYMOUS.

Would that breast were bared before thee

Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thee

Which thou ne'er canst know again : Would that breast, by thee glanced over,

Every inmost thought could show ! Then thou wouldst at last discover

’T was not well to spurn it so. Though the world for this commend thee,

Though it smile upon the blow, Even its praises must offend thee,

Founded on another's woe :
Though my many faults defaced me,

Could no other arm be found
Than the one which once embraced me,

To inflict a cureless wound ?
Yet, () yet, thyself deceive not:

Love may sink by slow decay, But by sudden wrench, believe not

Hearts can thus be torn away ; Still thine own its life retaineth,

Still must mine, though bleeding, beat; And the undying thought which paineth

Is — that we no more may meet. These are words of deeper sorrow

Than the wail above the dead ;
Both shall live, but every morrow

Wake us from a widowed bed.
And when thou wouldst solace gather,

When our child's first accents flow,
Wilt thou teach her to say

“ Father!" Though his care she must forego ? When her little hands shall press thee,

When her lip to thine is pressed, Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,

Think of him thy love had blessed ! Should her lineaments resemble

Those thou nevermore mayst see,
Then thy heart will softly tremble

With a pulse yet true to me.
All my faults perchance thou knowest,

All my madness none can know ;
All my hopes, where'er thou goest,

Wither, yet with thee they go. Every feeling hath been shaken ;

Pride which not a world could bow, Bows to thee, by thee forsaken,

Even my soul forsakes me now; But 't is done ; all words are idle,

Words from me are vainer still ; But the thoughts we cannot bridle

Force their way without the will.

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Fare thee well ! thus disunited,

Torn from every nearer tie, Seared in heart, and lone, and blighted,

More than this I scarce can die.

When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,

And Innocence is closing up his eyes, Now! if thou wouldst -- when all have given

him over — From death to life thou might'st him yet re

BYRON,

cover.

MICHAEL DRAYTOX

WHEN WE TWO PARTED.

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 knew 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 thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee? -
With silence and tears.

FAREWELL. THOU ART TOO DEAR. FAREWELL! thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou know'st thy estimate : The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; My bonds in thee are all determinate. For how do I hold thee but by thy granting! And for that riches where is my deserving ! The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, And so my patent back again is swerving. Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not

knowing, Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking; So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, Comes home again, on better judgment making.

Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter; In sleep a king, but, waking, no such matter.

SHAKESPEARE

BYRON.

AN EARNEST SUIT
TO HIS UNKIND MISTRESS NOT TO FORSAKE HIM.

AND wilt thou leave me thus !
Say nay! say nay! for shame!
To save thee from the blame
Of all my grief and grame.
And wilt thou leave me thus !

Say nay! say nay !
And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath loved thee so long,
In wealth and woe among?
And is thy heart so strong
As for to leave me thus ?

Say nay ! say nay !
And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath given thee my heart,
Never for to depart,
Neither for pain nor smart ?
And wilt thou leave me thus !

Say nay! say nav!
And wilt thou leave me thus,
And have no more pity
Of him that loveth thee?
Alas! thy cruelty !
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay ! say nay!

SIR THOMAS WYAT.

COME, LET US KISSE AND PARTE. Since there's no helpe, — come, let us kisse and

parte, Nay, I have done, - you get no more of me; And I am glad, — yea, glad with all my hearte,

That thus so cleanly I myselfe can free. Shake hands forever! - cancel all our vows;

And when we meet at any time againe, Be it not seene in either of our brows,

That we one jot of former love retaine. Now at the last gaspe of Love's latest breath

When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies;

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FROM

PEACE! what can tears avail ?
She lies all dumb and pale,
And from her eye

THE DYING GERTRUDE TO WALDE

GRAVE.
The spirit of lovely life is fading, –
And she must die !

GERTRUDE OF'WYOMING."
Why looks the lover wroth, the friend upbraid-
ing!

CLASP me a little longer on the brink Reply, reply !

Of fate! while I can feel thy dear caress ;

And when this heart hath ceased to beat, – 0, Hath she not dwelt too long

think, Midst pain, and grief, and wrong?

And let it mitigate thy woe's excess, Then why not die ?

That thou hast been to me all tenderness, Why suffer again her doom of sorrow,

And friend to more than human friendship just. And hopeless lie ?

Oh ! by that retrospect of happiness, Why nurse the trembling dream until to-morrow? And by the hopes of an immortal trust, Reply, reply!

God shall assuage thy pangs, when I am laid in

dust! Death! Take her to thine arms, In all her stainless charms !

Go, Henry, go not back, when I depart, And with her fly

The scene thy bursting tears too deep will move, To heavenly haunts, where, clad in brightness,

Where my dear father took thee to his heart,

And Gertrude thought it ecstasy to rove
The angels lie!
Wilt bear her there, O death! in all her whiteness? With thee, as with an angel, through the grove
Reply, reply!

Of peace, imagining her lot was cast
In heaven ; for ours was not like earthly love.

BARRY CORNWALL

E

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

And must this parting be our very last ? Give me one look before my life be gone, No! I shall love thee still, when death itself is Oh ! give me that, and let me not despair, past.

One last fond look ! — and now repeat the

prayer.” Half could I bear, methinks, to leave this He had his wish, had more : I will not paint earth,

The lovers' meeting ; she beheld him faint, And thee, more loved than aught beneath the sun, With tender fears, she took a nearer view, If I had lived to smile but on the birth

Her terrors doubling as her hopes withdrew ; Of one dear pledge ; -- but shall there then be He tried to smile ; and, half succeeding, said, none,

Yes! I must die" - and hope forever fledd. In future time, - no gentle little one,

Still long she nursed him ; tender thoughts To clasp thy neck, and look, resembling me?

meantime Yet seems it, even while life's last pulses run, Were interchanged, and hopes and views sublime. A sweetness in the cup of death to be,

To her he came to die, and every day
Lord of my bosom's love ! to die beholding thee ! She took some portion of the dread away ;

With him she prayed, to him his Bible read,
Soothed the faint heart, and held the aching

head :
THE MOURNER.

She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer,

Apart she sighed ; alone, she shed the tear; Yes ! there are real mourners, — I have see Then, as if breaking from a cloud, she gave A fair sad girl, mild, suffering, and serene ; Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave. Attention (through the day) her duties claimed, One day he lighter seemed, and they forgot And to be useful as resigned she aimed ; The care, the dread, the anguish of their lot ; Neatly she drest, nor vainly seemed t' expect They spoke with cheerfulness, and seemed to Pity for grief, or pardon for neglect ;

think, But when her wearied parents sunk to sleep,

Yet said not so — Perhaps he will not sink." She sought her place to meditate and weep ; A sudden brightness in his look appeared, Then to her mind was all the past displayed, A sudden vigor in his voice was heard ; That faithful memory brings to sorrow's aid : She had been reading in the Book of Prayer, For then she thought on one regretted youth, And led him forth, and placed him in his chair; Her tender trust, and his unquestioned truth; Lively he seemed, and spake of all he knew, In every place she wandered, where they 'd been, The friendly many, and the favorite few; And sadly-sacred held the parting scene, Nor one that day did he to mind recall, Where last for sea he took his leave ; that place But she has treasured, and she loves them all ; With double interest would she nightly trace ! When in her way she meets them, they appear

Happy he sailed, and great the care she took, Peculiar people, — death has made them dear.
That he should softly sleep and smartly look ; He named his friend, but then his hand she prest,
White was his better linen, and his check And fondly whispered, “Thou must go to rest.'
Was made more trim than any on the deck ; “I go," he said ; but as he spoke, she found
And every comfort men at sea can know, His hand more cold, and fluttering was the
Was hers to buy, to make, and to bestow :

sound;
For he to Greenland sailed, and much she told, Then gazed affrighted ; but she caught a last,
How he should guard against the climate's cold ; A dying look of love, and all was past !
Yet saw not danger ; dangers he'd withistood, She placed a decent stone his grave above,
Nor could she trace the fever in his blood. Neatly engraved, an offering of her love :-

His messmates smiled at flushings on his cheek, For that she wrought, for that forsook her bed,
And he too smiled, but seldom would he speak; Awake alike to duty and the dead ;
For now he found the danger, felt the pain, She would have grieved, had friends presumed to
With grievous symptoms he could not explain.

spare He called his friend, and prefaced with a sigh

The least assistance, - 't was her proper care. A lover's message, — "Thomas, I must die ; Here will she come, and on the grave will sit, Would I could see my Sally, and could rest Folding her arms, in long abstracted fit: My throbbing temples on her faithful breast, But if observer pass, will take her round, And gazing go ! - if not, this trifle take, And careless seem, for she would not be found ; And say, till death I wore it for her sake: Then go again, and thus her hours employ, Yes! I must die — blow on, sweet breeze, blow While visions please her, and while woes destrop.

GEORGE CRABBE

on,

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