And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting

hill,

The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still;

And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed, with friendly talk,

Down many a path beloved of yore, and wellremembered walk,

And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine,

But we'll meet no more at Bingen,-loved Bingen on the Rhine."

The trembling voice grew faint and hoarse, his grasp was childish weak,

His eyes put on a dying look, he sighed and ceased to speak;

His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled,

The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land is dead! And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down

On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corses strown;

Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine,

As it shone on distant Bingen, -fair Bingen on the
Rhine.
CAROLINE E. NORTON.

COLLECTION OF LOVE POEMS.

223

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.

COME live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hill and valley, grove and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.
There will we sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
There will I make thee beds of roses,
With a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Slippers lin'd choicely for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Then live with me and be my love.

CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.

DON'T BE SORROWFUL, DARLING.

O DON'T be sorrowful, darling!

And don't be sorrowful, pray; Taking the year together, my dear, There isn't more night than day.

'T is rainy weather, my darling;

Time's waves they heavily run; But taking the year together, my dear, There isn't more cloud than sun.

We are old folks now, my darling,

Our heads are growing gray;

But taking the year all round, my dear, You will always find the May.

We have had our May, my darling,

And our roses long ago;

And the time of the year is coming, my dear,

For the silent night and the snow.

But God is God, my darling,

Of the night as well as the day; And we feel and know that we can go Wherever He leads the way.

A God of the night, my darling,

Of the night of death so grim;
The gate that leads out of life, good wife,
Is the gate that leads to Him.

REMBRANDT Peale,

LIKE A LAVEROCK IN THE LIFT.

It's we two, it's we two, its we two for aye,
All the world and we two, and Heaven be our stay.
Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride!
All the world was Adam once, with Eve by his side.

What's the world, my lass, my love! what can it do? I am thine, and thou art mine; life is sweet and

new.

If the world have missed the mark, let it stand by; For we two have gotten leave, and once more we'll try.

Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride!
It's we two, it's we two, happy side by side.
Take a kiss from me, thy man; now the song begins:
"All is made afresh for us, and the brave heart wins."

When the darker days come, and no sun will shine, Thou shalt dry my tears, lass, and I'll dry thine. It's we two, it's we two, while the world's away, Sitting by the golden sheaves on our wedding day. JEAN INGELOW.

TWO TRUTHS.

"DARLING," he said, "I never meant To hurt you;" and his eyes were wet. "I would not hurt you for the world; Am I to blame if I forget?"

"Forgive my selfish tears!" she cried, "Forgive! I knew that it was not Because you meant to hurt me, Sweet,I knew it was that you forgot!"

225

But all the same, deep in her heart
Rankled this thought, and rankles yet,—
"When love is at its best, one loves
So much that he cannot forget."
HELEN HUNT JACKSON.

GOOD-NIGHT.

GOOD-NIGHT! I have to say good-night
To such a host of peerless things!
Good-night unto that fragile hand
All queenly with its weight of rings,
Good-night to fond, uplifted eyes,
Good-night to chestnut braids of hair,
Good-night unto the perfect mouth,
And all the sweetness nestled there;

The snowy hand detains me, then
I'll have to say Good-night again!
But there will come a time, My Love,
When, if I read our stars aright,

I shall not linger by this porch

With my adieus. Till then, good-night!
You wish the time were now? And I.
You do not blush to wish it so?
You would have blushed yourself to death
To own as much a year ago.

What, both these snowy hands? Ah, then
I'll have to say Good-night again.
THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

APPLE BLOSSOMS.

THE Soft wind whispered secrets to the apple-tree,
Caressed her in his arms, and would not let her go
Until the rosy blossoms came triumphantly
To tell the one sweet message that he wished to
know.

A timid maiden with her lover lingered there

In silence, clasping hands amid the leaves that fell, Till one bold blossom drifting down the perfumed air

Just touched her rounded cheek, and bade the blushes tell.

FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN,

SOMEWHERE 'mid cloistered trees there lies
A spot ne'er seen of human eyes;
There all day long the shadows sleep
In woven grasses, cool and deep;
There o'er its shallows slants a stream
In which the rushes dip and dream;
All day to some tall reed there clings
The dragon-fly with moveless wings;
No bird-note wakes the slumbering air;
No piping insects revel there;
Within that quiet nook the breeze
Scarce lifts the leaves upon the trees.
It is the haunt where Peace abides,
Shy Peace that ever flees and hides
Before man's sad and weary face.
Ah, should I find her secret place,
And steal upon her silently,
Or e'er her timid feet could flee,
Might I not seize and hold her well,
And bring her captive where men dwell?

SPRING IN BONDS.

I.

BLACK Winter rear'd a prison grim and great;
He tomb'd sweet Spring therein with icy bands,
Then call'd his bitter winds from northern lands
And set them, warder-wise, to guard the gate.

II.

He sang, he laugh'd a blizzard laugh, he cried"Mine, mine! The Maid is mine for evermore! The hurricane's wild bells on Arctic shore Shall peal in thunders when I wed my bride."

III.

The Sun-God heard the captive Maiden's moan,
And sent a shaft of love, so strong, so true,
It pierced the prison and its Keeper through,
And drove him howling to his farthest zone.

IV.

The ice-walls fell: the gyves slipped from her hand: The Maid stepp'd forth: bird-music shook the

skies:

Her lover look'd into her blue, blue eyes And led her over all the laughing land

GRAINS.

SCORN not the feather if you prize the wing.

On the laburnum chains, the fairies swing Their little golden pitchers, fill'd with Spring. The pinions of success can spare no quill.

MISCHIEF-SEEDS.

BROOD not on words or slights, their biting force Is measured by their housing-mischief-seeds Which, nursed and tended, bring forth poison

weeds

Whose bitter crop is hatred and remorse.