SHE'S up and gone, the graceless girl! And robbed my failing years; My blood before was thin and cold, But now 'tis turned to tears; My shadow falls upon my grave, So near the brink I stand, She might have stayed a little yet, And led me by the hand!
Aye, call her on the barren moor, And call her on the hill,
'Tis nothing but the heron's cry, And plover's answer shrill; My child is flown on wilder wings, Than they have ever spread, And I may even walk a waste That widened when she fled.
Full many a thankless child has been, But never one like mine;
Her meat was served on plates of gold, Her drink was rosy wine,
But now she'll share the robin's food, And sup the common rill, Before her feet will turn again To meet her father's will!
I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.
I REMEMBER, I remember, The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day,
But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away!
I remember, I remember, The roses, red and white, The vi'lets, and the lily-cups, Those flowers made of light! The lilacs where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthday,- The tree is living yet!
I remember, I remember,
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!
I remember, I remember,
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.
'SIGH ON, SAD HEART.'
SIGH on, sad heart, for Love's eclipse, And Beauty's fairest queen, Though 'tis not for my peasant lips To soil her name between:
A king might lay his sceptre down, But I am poor and nought,
The brow should wear a golden crown That wears her in its thought.
The diamonds glancing in her hair, Whose sudden beams surprise, Might bid such humble hopes beware The glancing of her eyes;
Yet looking once, I looked too long, And if my love is sin,
Death follows on the heels of wrong, And kills the crime within.
Her dress seemed wove of lily leaves, It was so pure and fine,
Oh, lofty wears, and lowly weaves, But hodden grey is mine; And homely hose must step apart, Where gartered princes stand, But may he wear my love at heart That wins her lily hand!
Alas! there's far from russet frieze To silks and satin gowns,
But I doubt if God made like degrees In courtly hearts and clowns'. My father wronged a maiden's mirth, And brought her cheeks to blame, And all that's lordly of my birth, Is my reproach and shame!
'Tis vain to weep,-'tis vain to sigh, 'Tis vain this idle speech, For where her happy pearls do lie, My tears may never reach;
Yet when I'm gone, e'en lofty pride May say of what has been,
His love was nobly born and died, Though all the rest was mean!
My speech is rude,-but speech is weak Such love as mine to tell, Yet had I words, I dare not speak,
So, lady, fare thee well;
I will not wish thy better state Was one of low degree,
But I must weep that partial fate Made such a churl of me.
THE WATER LADY.
ALAS, the moon should ever beam To show what man should never see! I saw a maiden on a stream,
I stayed awhile, to see her throw Her tresses back, that all beset The fair horizon of her brow With clouds of jet.
I stayed a little while to view
Her cheek, that wore in place of red The bloom of water, tender blue, Daintily spread.
I stayed to watch, a little space, Her parted lips if she would sing; The waters closed above her face With many a ring.
And still I stayed a little more, Alas! she never comes again;
I throw my flowers from the shore, And watch in vain.
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