The Worlds Best Poetry, Volume 3 | Page 9

orphan-boy to read,?Or teach the orphan-girl to sew,?Pray Heaven for a human heart,?And let the foolish yeoman go.
ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.
LINDA TO HAFED.
FROM "THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS."
"How sweetly," said the trembling maid,?Of her own gentle voice afraid,?So long had they in silence stood,?Looking upon that moonlight flood,--?"How sweetly does the moonbeam smile?To-night upon yon leafy isle!?Oft in my fancy's wanderings,?I've wished that little isle had wings,?And we, within its fairy bowers,?Were wafted off to seas unknown,?Where not a pulse should beat but ours,?And we might live, love, die alone!?Far from the cruel and the cold,--?Where the bright eyes of angels only?Should come around us, to behold?A paradise so pure and lonely!?Would this be world enough for thee?"--?Playful she turned, that he might see?The passing smile her cheek put on;?But when she marked how mournfully?His eyes met hers, that smile was gone;?And, bursting into heartfelt tears,?"Yes, yes," she cried, "my hourly fears,?My dreams, have boded all too right,--?We part--forever part--to-night!?I knew, I knew it could not last,--?'T was bright, 't was heavenly, but 't is past!?O, ever thus, from childhood's hour,?I've seen my fondest hopes decay;?I never loved a tree or flower?But 't was the first to fade away.?I never nursed a dear gazelle,?To glad me with its soft black eye,?But when it came to know me well,?And love me, it was sure to die!?Now, too, the joy most like divine?Of all I ever dreamt or knew,?To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine,--?O misery! must I lose that too?"
THOMAS MOORE.
LOVE NOT.
Love not, love not, ye hapless sons of clay!?Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers,--?Things that are made to fade and fall away?Ere they have blossomed for a few short hours.
Love not!
Love not! the thing ye love may change;?The rosy lip may cease to smile on you,?The kindly-beaming eye grow cold and strange,?The heart still warmly beat, yet not be true.
Love not!
Love not! the thing you love may die,--?May perish from the gay and gladsome earth;?The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky,?Beam o'er its grave, as once upon its birth.
Love not!
Love not! O warning vainly said?In present hours as in years gone by!?Love flings a halo round the dear one's head,?Faultless, immortal, till they change or die.
Love not!
CAROLINE ELIZABETH SHERIDAN. (HON. MRS. NORTON.)
THE PRINCESS.
The Princess sat lone in her maiden bower,?The lad blew his horn at the foot of the tower.?"Why playest thou alway? Be silent, I pray,?It fetters my thoughts that would flee far away.
As the sun goes down."
In her maiden bower sat the Princess forlorn,?The lad had ceased to play on his horn.?"Oh, why art thou silent? I beg thee to play!?It gives wings to my thought that would flee far away,
As the sun goes down."
In her maiden bower sat the Princess forlorn,?Once more with delight played the lad on his horn.?She wept as the shadows grew long, and she sighed:?"Oh, tell me, my God, what my heart doth betide,
Now the sun has gone down."
From the Norwegian of BJ?RNSTJERNE BJ?RNSON.?Translation of NATHAN HASKELL DOLE.
UNREQUITED LOVE.
FROM "TWELFTH NIGHT," ACT I. SC. 4.
VIOLA.--Ay, but I know,--
DUKE. What dost thou know?
VIOLA.--Too well what love women to men may owe:?In faith, they are as true of heart as we.?My father had a daughter loved a man,?As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,?I should your lordship.
DUKE.--And what's her history?
VIOLA.--A blank, my lord. She never told her love,?But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,?Feed on her damask cheek; she pined in thought;?And, with a green and yellow melancholy,?She sat like Patience on a monument,?Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed??We men may say more, swear more: but, indeed,?Our shows are more than will; for still we prove?Much in our vows, but little in our love.
SHAKESPEARE.
FAIR INES.
O saw ye not fair Ines? she's gone into the west,?To dazzle when the sun is down, and rob the world of rest;?She took our daylight with her, the smiles that we love best, With morning blushes on her cheek, and pearls upon her breast.
O turn again, fair Ines, before the fall of night,?For fear the moon should shine alone, and stars unrivalled bright; And blessèd will the lover be that walks beneath their light, And breathes the love against thy cheek I dare not even write!
Would I had been, fair Ines, that gallant cavalier?Who rode so gayly by thy side and whispered thee so near!?Were there no bonny dames at home, or no true lovers here,?That he should cross the seas to win the dearest of the dear?
I saw thee, lovely Ines, descend along the shore,?With bands of noble gentlemen, and banners waved before;?And gentle youth and maidens gay, and snowy plumes they wore;-- It would have been a beauteous dream--if it had been no more!
Alas! alas! fair Ines! she went away with song,?With music waiting on her steps, and shoutings of the throng;