game, The chase for the wild, and the park for My couch may be my bloody plaid, the tame; Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale, My vesper song thy wail, sweet maid! It will not waken me, Mary! Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a- I may not, dare not, fancy now Dale! Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight, Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright; Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord, Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word; And the best of our nobles his bonnet will veil, The grief that clouds thy lovely brow; I dare not think upon thy vow, And all it promised me, Mary. No fond regret must Norman know; When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe, His heart must be like bended bow, His foot like arrow free, Mary. A time will come with feeling fraught! For, if I fall in battle fought, Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets Thy hapless lover's dying thought Allen-a-Dale. Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. · And if return'd from conquer'd foes, SIR WALTER SCOTT. Love not! oh, 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. SIGH NO MORE, LADIES. And be you blythe and bonny; Sing no more ditties, sing no mo And be you blythe and bonny; WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Love not! CAROLINE NORTON. A WOMAN'S QUESTION. BEFORE I trust my Fate to thee, Or place my hand in thine, Before I let thy Future give Color and form to mine, Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul to-night for me. I break all slighter bonds, nor feel Is there one link within the Past Or is thy Faith as clear and free as that which I can pledge to thee? Does there within thy dimmest dreams Untouch'd, unshared by mine? If so, at any pain or cost, oh tell me before all is lost. Look deeper still. If thou canst feel That thou hast kept a portion back, Let no false pity spare the blow, but in true mercy tell me so. Is there within thy heart a need That mine cannot fulfil? One chord that any other hand Could better wake or still? Speak now-lest at some future day my whole life wither and decay. Lives there within thy nature hid The demon-spirit Change, Shedding a passing glory still On all things new and strange? It may not be thy fault alone-but shield my heart against thy own. Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day I love the flowers; happy hours lie Shut up within their petals close and fast: You have forgotten, dear; but they and I Keep every fragment of the golden past. I love, too, to be loved; all loving praise Seems like a crown upon my life,-to make It better worth the giving, and to raise Still nearer to your own the heart you take. I love all good and noble souls;-I heard One speak of you but lately, and for days, Only to think of it, my soul was stirr'd In tender memory of such generous praise. I love all those who love you: all who owe Comfort to you; and I can find regret Even for those poorer hearts who once could know, And once could love you, and can now forget. Well, is my heart so narrow,-I, who spare Love for all these? Do I not even hold My favorite books in special tender care, And prize them as a miser does his gold?— The poets that you used to read to me While summer twilights faded in the sky; But most of all I think Aurora Leigh, Because-because-do you remember why? Will you be jealous? Did you guess before I loved so many things?-Still you the best: Dearest, remember that I love you more, Oh more a thousand times, than all the rest! ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER MAUDE CLARE. OUT of the church she follow'd them "Son Thomas," his lady mother said, "Your father thirty years ago My lord was pale with inward strife, "Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord, Have brought my gift," she said: "To bless the hearth, to bless the board, To bless the marriage-bed. "Here's my half of the golden chain "Here's my half of the faded leaves He strove to match her scorn with scorn, "Lady," he said,-"Maude Clare," he said, "Maude Clare:"-and hid his face. She turn'd to Nell: "My Lady Nell, Though were it fruit, the bloom were gone, "Take my share of a fickle heart, Mine of a paltry love: Take it or leave it as you will, "And what you leave," said Nell," I'll take, "Yea, though you're taller by the head, CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI. A SERENADE. AH! County Guy, the hour is nigh, The lark, his lay who trill'd all day, Sits hush'd his partner nigh; Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour, But where is County Guy? The village maid steals through the shade, Sings high-born cavalier. SIR WALTER SCOTT. TO A VERY YOUNG LADY. I little thought the rising fire Your charms in harmless childhood lay Like metals in a mine; Age from no face takes more away Than youth conceal'd in thine. To their perfection prest, My passion with your beauty grew. Threw a new flaming dart; Though now I slowly bend to love If your fair self my chains approve, mournful dove; A RENUNCIATION. IF women could be fair, and yet not fond, I Or that their love were firm, not fickle still, would not marvel that they make men bond By service long to purchase their good will, But when I see how frail those creatures are, I muse that men forget themselves so far. Ne joy of aught that under heaven doth To mark the choice they make, and how they change, How oft from Phoebus they do flee to Pan, Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range, These gentle birds that fly from man to man; Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist, And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list. Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both, To pass the time when nothing else can And train them to our lure with subtle please, oath, Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease; And then we say when we their fancy try, To play with fools, oh, what a fool was I! EDWARD VERE, Earl of Oxford. BLAME NOT MY LUTE. BLAME not my Lute! for he must sound |