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The slender acacia would not shake One long milk-bloom on the tree; The white lake-blossom fell into the lake.

As the pimpernel dozed on the lea; But the rose was awake all night for your sake,

Knowing your promise to me; The lilies and roses were all awake,

They sighed for the dawn and thee.

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls.

Come hither, the dances are done, In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,

Queen lily and rose in one; Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls, To the flowers, and be their sun.

There has fallen a splendid tear

From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear;

She is coming, my life, my fate; The red rose cries, She is near, she is near;" And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"

The larkspur listens, "I hear, I

hear;"

And the lily whispers, " I wait."

She is coming, my own, my sweet;

Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her, and beat,

Were it earth in an earthy bed. My dust would hear her, and beat,

Had I lain for a century dead: Would start and tremble under her feet,

And blossom in purple and red.

(From Maud.]
GO NOT, HAPPY DAY.

Go not, happy day.

From the shining fields, Go not, happy day,

Till the maiden yields. Rosy is the West,

Rosy is the South, Roses are her cheeks,

And a rose her mouth.

When the happy Yes

Falters from her lips, Pass and blush the news

O'er the blowing ships, Over blowing seas,

Over seas at rest, Pass the happy news,

Blush it through the West, Till the red man dance

By his red cedar-tree. And the red man's babe

Leap, beyond the sea. Blush from West to East,

Blush from East to West, Till the West is East,

Blush it through the West. Rosy is the West,

Rosy is the South, Roses are her cheeks,

And a rose her mouth.

[From Cuinetere.]

THE NUNS' SONG.

Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill! Late, late, so late! but we can enter still.

Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now.

No light had we: for that we do repent:

And learning this, the bridegroom

will relent. Too late, too late! ye cannot enter

now.

No light: so late! and dark and chill the night; Oh, let us in, that we may find the light!

Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now.

Have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet? Oh, let us in, though late, to kiss his feet!

No, no, too late! ye cannot enter now.

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THE DEATH OF THE OLD YE All.

Full knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sighing:

Toll ye the church-hell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying.
Old year, you must not die:
You came to us so readily,
You lived with us so steadily,
Old year, you shall not die.

He lieth still; he doth not move;

He will not see the dawn of day.

He hath no other life above; [love.

He gave me a friend, and a true, true

And the new year will take 'em away.
Old year, you must not go:
So long as you have been with us,
Such joy as you have seen with us,
Old year, you shall not go.

He frothed his bumpers to the brim;

A jollier year we shall not see;

But though his eyes are waxing dim,

And though his foes speak ill of him,

He was a friend to me.
Old year; you shall not die:
We did so laugh and cry with you,
I've half a mind to die with you,
Old year, if you must die.

He was full of joke and jest,
But all his merry quips are o'er.
To see him die across the waste
His son and heir doth ride post-haste,
But he'll be dead before.

Every one for his own.

The night is starry and cold, my friend,

And the new year, blithe and bold,

my friend,
Comes up to take his own.

How hard he breathes! over the snow
I heard just now the crowing cock.
The shadows flicker to and fro:
The cricket chirps: the light burns
low:

'Tis nearly twelve o'clock.
Shake hands before you die.
Old year, we'll dearly rue for you:
What is it we can do for you?
Speak out before you die.

His face is growing sharp and thin.
Alack! our friend is gone.
Close up his eyes: tie up his chin:
Step from the corpse, and let him in
That standeth there alone,

And waiteth at the door.

There's a new foot on the floor, my friend,

And a new face at the door, my

friend, A new face at the door.

A WELCOME TO ALEXANDRA.

Step daughter from over the

sea,

Alexandra! Saxon and Norman and Dane are we, But all of us Danes in our welcome of thee,

Alexandra! Welcome her, thunders of fort and of fleet!

Welcome her, thundering cheer of

the street! Welcome her, all things youthful and

sweet,

Scatter the blossom under her feet! Break, happy land, into earlier flowers!

Make music, O bird, in the new-budded bowers!

Blazon your mottoes of blessing and prayer!

Welcome her, welcome her, all that is ours!

Warble, O bugle, and trumpet, blare! Flags, flutter out upon turrets and towers!

Flames, on the windy headland flare! Utter your jubilee, steeple and spire! Clash, ye bells, in the merry March air!

Flash, ye cities, in rivers of fire! Bush to the roof, sudden rocket, and higher

Melt into the stars for the land's

desire!

Roll and rejoice, jubilant voice, Roll as a ground-swell dashed on the strand,

Roar as the sea when he welcomes the land,

And welcome her, welcome the land's

desire,

The sea-kings' daughter, as happy as fair,

Blissful bride of a blissful heir, Bride of the heir of the kings of the sea —

O joy to the people, and joy to the throne,

Come to us, love us, and make us

your own, For Saxon or Dane or Norman we, Teuton or Celt or whatever we be, We are each all Dane in our welcome

of thee,

Alexandra!

LADY CLARA VERE DE FERE.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

Of me you shall not win renown: You thought to break a country heart

For pastime, ere you went to
town.

At me you smiled, but unbcguiled
I saw the snare, and I retired:

The daughter of a hundred earls,
You are not one to be desired.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
I know you proud to bear your
name,

Your pride is yet no mate for mine, Too proud to care from whence I came.

Nor would I break for your sweet

sake

A heart that doats on. truer charms. A simple maiden in her flower Is worth a hundred coats of arms.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, Some meeker pupil you must find

For were you queen of all that is,

I could not stoop to such a mind. You sought to prove how I could love.

And my disdain is my reply. The lion on your old stone gates Is not more cold to you than I.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, You put strange memories in my head;

Nor thrice your branching limes have blown

Since I beheld young Laurence dead.

Oh, your sweet eyes, your low replies: A great enchantress you may be:

But there was that across his throat Which you had hardly cared to see.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, When thus he met his mother's view,

She had the passions of her kind, She spake some certain truths of you.

Indeed I heard one bitter word That scarce is fit for you to hear:

Her manners had not that repose Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vcre.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

There stands a spectre in your hall: The guilt of blood is at your door:

You changed a wholesome heart to gall.

You held your course without remorse,

To make him trust his modest worth,

And, last, you fixed a vacant stare, And slew him with your noble birth.

Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, From yon blue heavens above us bent

The grand old gardener and his wife
Smile at the claims of long descent.

Howe'er it be, it seems to me,
'Tis only noble to be good.

Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.

I know you, Clara Vere de Vere, You pine among your halls and towers:

The languid light of your proud eyes Is wearied of the rolling hours.

In glowing health, with boundless wealth,

But sickening of a vague disease, You know so ill to deal with time, You needs must play such pranks as these.

Clara, Clara Vere de Vere,

If Time be heavy on your hands, Are there no beggars at your gate,

Nor any poor about your lands? OhI teach the orphan-boy to read,

Or teach the orphan-girl to sew, Pray Heaven for a human heart,

And let the foolish yeoman go.

CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said.
Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldiers knew

Some one had blundered:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die,
Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them

Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell

Rode the six hundred.

Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wondered:

Plunged in the battery-smoke,
Kight throughthe line theybroke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the sabre-stroke

Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not,

Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them.

Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so wi ll
Came through the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
Oh, the wild charge they made!

All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light Brigade!

Noble six hundred!

BREAK, BREAK, BREAK.

Break, break, break,

On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter

The thoughts that arise in me.

Oh, well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play!

Oh, well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on

To their haven under the hill: But oh, for the touch of a vanished hand,

And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break,

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead

Will never come back to me.

MOVE EASTWARD, HAPPY EARTH.

Move eastward, happy earth, and leave

Yon orange sunset waning slow: From fringes of the faded eve,

O happy planet, eastward go: Till over thy dark shoulder glow,

Thy silver-sister world, and rise

To glass herself in dewy eyes That watch me from the glen below.

Ah, bear me with thee, lightly borne, Dip forward under starry light,

And move me to my marriage-morn, And round again to happy night.

THE TEARS OF HE A YEN.

Heaven weeps above the earth all

night till morn, In darkness weeps as all ashamed to

weep,

Because the earth hath made her state forlorn

With self-wrought evil of unnumbered years,

And doth the fruit of her dishonor reap.

And all the day heaven gathers back her tears

Into her own blue eyes so clear and

deep,

And showering down the glory of

lightsome day, Smiles on the earth's worn brow to

win her if she may.

COME NOT WHEN I AM DEAD.

Come not when I am dead, To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave,

To trample round my fallen head, And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save. There let the wind sweep and the plover cry;

But thou go by.

Child, if it were thine error or thy crime

I care no longer, being all unblest: Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time, And I desire to rest. Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie:

Go by, go by.

CIRCUMSTANCE.

Two children in two neighbor villages [leas: Playing mad pranks along the healthy Two strangers meeting at a festival: Two lovers whispering by an orchard wall:

Two lives bound fast in one with golden ease:

Two graves grass-green beside a gray church-tower

Washed with still rains and daisyblossomed;

Two children in one hamlet born and bred: [to hour.

So runs the round of life from hour

William Makepeace Thackeray.

AT THE CHURCH-OATE.

Although I enter not, Yet round about the spot,

Ofttimes I hover; And near the sacred gate, With longing eyes I wait,

Expectant of her.

The minster-bell tolls out
Above the city's rout,

And noise and humming; They've hushed the minster-bell, The organ 'gins to swell,—

She's coming,— coming!

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