A Little Book of Old Time Verse Part 12

Last heard, white music, under the olives Where once Theocritus sang and play'd-- Thy Thracian song is the old new wonder-- O moon-white maid!

--_William Sharp_

Home-Thoughts from Abroad

O, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England--now!

And after April, when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!

Hark, where my blossom'd pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops--at the bent spray's edge-- That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture!

And though the fields look rough with h.o.a.ry dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The b.u.t.tercups, the little children's dower --Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

--_Robert Browning_

FEW HAPPY MATCHES

Say, mighty Love, and teach my song, To whom thy sweetest joys belong, And who the happy pairs Whose yielding hearts, and joining hands, Find blessings twisted with their bands To soften all their cares.

Two kindest souls alone must meet, 'Tis friends.h.i.+p makes the bondage sweet, And feeds their mutual loves: Bright Venus on her rolling throne Is drawn by gentlest birds alone, And Cupids yoke the doves.

--_Dr. Isaac Watts_

A Song

Gentle love, this hour befriend me, To my eyes resign thy dart; Notes of melting music lend me, To dissolve a frozen heart.

Chill as mountain snow her bosom, Though I tender language use, 'Tis by cold indifference frozen, To my arms, and to my Muse.

See! my dying eyes are pleading, Where a breaking heart appears; For thy pity interceding With the eloquence of tears.

While the lamp of life is fading, And beneath thy coldness dies, Death my ebbing pulse invading, Take my soul into thy eyes.

--_Aaron Hill_

Love's Likeness

O mark yon Rose-tree! When the West Breathes on her with too warm a zest, She turns her cheek away; Yet if one moment he refrain, She turns her cheek to him again, And woos him still to stay!

Is she not like a maiden coy Press'd by some amorous-breathing boy?

Tho' coy, she courts him too, Winding away her slender form, She will not have him woo so warm, And yet will have him woo!

--_George Darley_

My Lady

I loved her for that she was beautiful; And that to me she seem'd to be all Nature, And all varieties of things in one: Would set at night in clouds of tears, and rise All light and laughter in the morning; fear No petty customs nor appearances; But think what others only dream'd about; And say what others did but think; and do What others did but say; and glory in What others dared but do; so pure withal In soul; in heart and act such conscious yet Such perfect innocence, she made round her A halo of delight. 'Twas these which won me;-- And that she never school'd within her breast One thought or feeling, but gave holiday To all; and that she made all even mine In the communion of Love; and we Grew like each other, for we loved each other; She, mild and generous as the air in Spring; And I, like Earth all budding out with love.

--_Philip James Bailey_

To a Discarded Toast

Celia, confess 'tis all in vain To patch the ruins of thy face; Nor of ill-natur'd time complain, That robs it of each blooming grace.

If love no more shall bend his bow, Nor point his arrows from thine eye, If no lac'd fop, nor feathered beau, Despairing at thy feet shall die.

Yet still, my charmer, wit like thine Shall triumph over age and fate; Thy setting beams with l.u.s.tre s.h.i.+ne, And rival their meridian height.

Beauty, fair flower! soon fades away, And transient are the joys of love; But wit, and virtue ne'er decay, Ador'd below, and bless'd above.

--_William Somerville_

The Bonnie Wee Thing

Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, Lovely wee thing, wast thou mine, I wad wear thee in my bosom, Lest my jewel I should tine.

Wishfully I look and languish In that bonnie face o' thine; And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, Lest my wee thing be na mine.

Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty, In ae constellation s.h.i.+ne; To adore thee is my duty, G.o.ddess o' this sould of mine.

--_Robert Burns_

Song from "The Princess"

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white; Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font; The firefly wakens: waken thou with me.

Now droops the milk-white peac.o.c.k like a ghost, And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.

Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars, And all thy heart lies open unto me.

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves A s.h.i.+ning furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up, And slips into the bosom of the lake: So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip Into my bosom and be lost in me.

--_Alfred Tennyson_