I love her with a love as still THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. As a broad river's peaceful might, Which, by high tower and lowly mill, Goes wandering at its own will, And yet doth ever flow aright. And, on its full, deep breast serene, It flows around them and between, JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. Serenade. Aн, Sweet, thou little knowest how Methinks thou smilest in thy sleep. "Tis sweet enough to make me weep, That tender thought of love and thee, That while the world is hushed so deep, Thy soul's perhaps awake to me! Sleep on, sleep on, sweet bride of sleep! With golden visions for thy dower, While I this midnight vigil keep, And bless thee in thy silent bower; To me 'tis sweeter than the power. Of sleep, and fairy dreams unfurled, That I alone, at this still hour, 277 Nay, lady, from thy slumbers break, EDWARD COATE PINKNEY. The Miller's Daughter. It is the miller's daughter, And she is grown so dear, so dear, That I would be the jewel That trembles at her ear; For, hid in ringlets day and night, About her dainty, dainty waist, And I should know if it beat right, And I would be the necklace, And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom With her laughter or her sighs; And I would lie so light, so light, I scarce should be unclasped at night. ALFRED TENNYSON. Serenade. THOMAS HOOD. Look out upon the stars, my love, Of blending shades and light: A sister to the night! Sleep not!-thine image wakes for aye Sleep not!-from her soft sleep should fly, The Brook-side. I WANDERED by the brook-side, I wandered by the mill; I could not hear the brook flow, The noisy wheel was still; There was no burr of grasshopper, No chirp of any bird, But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. I sat beneath the elm-tree; I watched the long, long shade, And as it grew still longer I did not feel afraid; For I listened for a footfall, I listened for a word, But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. I've taught thee love's sweet lesson o'er, In her wild, solitary years? Then what does he deserve, the youth Till now in silent vales to roam, To weave light crowns of various hue- The wild bird, though most musical, The streamlet, and the waterfall, For leaves and flowers, but these alone, It dies in thunder far away. E'en when thou wouldst the moon beguile Now, birds and winds, be churlish still! 279 She never yet could find with ye! GEORGE DARLEY. The Awakening of Endymion. LONE upon a mountain, the pine-trees wailing round him, Lone upon a mountain the Grecian youth is laid; Sleep, mystic sleep, for many a year has bound him, Yet his beauty, like a statue's, pale and fair, is undecayed. When will he awaken ? When will he awaken? a loud voice hath been crying, Night after night, and the cry has been in vain; Winds, woods, and waves found echoes for replying, But the tones of the beloved one were never heard again. When will he awaken ? Asked the midnight's silver queen. Never mortal eye has looked upon his sleeping; Parents, kindred, comrades, have mourned for him as dead; By day the gathered clouds have had him in their keeping, And at night the solemn shadows round his rest are shed. When will he awaken ↑ Long has been the cry of faithful love's imploring; Long has hope been watching with soft eyes fixed above; When will the fates, the life of life restoring, Own themselves vanquished by much enduring love! When will he awaken ? Asks the midnight's weary queen. Beautiful the sleep that she has watched untiring, He has been dreaming of old heroic stories, And the poet's passionate world has entered in his soul; What is this old history, but a lesson given, How true love still conquers by the deep strength of truth He has grown conscious of life's ancestral glo- How all the impulses, whose native home is heaven, ries, When sages and when kings first upheld the mind's control. When will he awaken? Asks the midnight's stately queen. Lo, the appointed midnight! the present hour is fated! Sanctify the visions of hope, and faith, and youth? "Tis for such they waken! When every worldly thought is utterly forsaken, Comes the starry midnight, felt by life's gifted few; It is Endymion's planet that rises on the Then will the spirit from its earthly sleep awa air; How long, how tenderly his goddess-love has waited, Waited with a love too mighty for despair! Soon he will awaken. Soft amid the pines is a sound as if of singing, Tones that seem the lute's from the breathing flowers depart; ken To a being more intense, more spiritual, and true. So doth the soul awaken, Like that youth to night's fair queen! LETITIA ELizabeth LanDON. Song. Not a wind that wanders o'er Mount Latmos but SING the old song, amid the sounds dispersing is bringing Music that is murmured from nature's inmost heart. Soon he will awaken To his and midnight's queen! Lovely is the green earth,- she knows the hour is holy; Starry are the heavens, lit with eternal joy; Light like their own is dawning sweet and slowly O'er the fair and sculptured forehead of that yet dreaming boy. Soon he will awaken! Red as the red rose towards the morning turning, That burden treasured in your hearts too long; Sing it with voice low-breathed, but never name her; She will not hear you, in her turrets nursing song Bend o'er her, gentle heaven, but do not claim her! In twilight caves, and secret lonelinesses, She shades the bloom of her unearthly days; The forest winds alone approach to woo her. Far off we catch the dark gleam of her tresses; And wild birds haunt the wood-walks where she strays, Intelligible music warbling to her. Warms the youth's lip to the watcher's near his That spirit charged to follow and defend her, Riding Mown. Oн, did you see him riding down, Oh, did you hear those bells ring out, RIDING DOWN. And did you see the waving flags, And did you hear the drums' gay beat, And did you see me waiting there, And did you see him smiling down, My face uplifted red and white, Oh, did you see how swift it came, And at the windows all along, Each face was like a radiant gem, 281 He turned away from all their grace, Absence. WHAT shall I do with all the days and hours Weary with longing? Shall I flee away Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin Of casting from me God's great gift of time Shall I, these mists of memory locked within, Leave and forget life's purposes sublime? Oh, how, or by what means, may I contrive To bring the hour that brings thee back more near? How may I teach my drooping hope to live Until that blessed time and thou art here? I'll tell thee; for thy sake I will lay hold Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee, In worthy deeds, each moment that is told, While thou, beloved one! art far from me. For thee I will arouse my thoughts to try All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains; I will this dreary blank of absence make So may this doomed time build up in me A thousand graces, which shall thus be thine; So may my love and longing hallowed be, And thy dear thought an influence divine. FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. |