Poems by George Pope Morris - BestLightNovel.com
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Love comes and goes like a spell!
How, no one knows, nor can tell!
Now here--now there--then away!
None dreameth where!--Well-a-day!
Love should be true as the star Seen in the blue sky afar!-- Not here--now there--like the lay Of lutes in th' air!--Well-a-day!
Should love depart, not a tie Binds up the heart till we die!-- Now here--now there--sad we stray Life is all care!--Well-a-day!
Not Married Yet!
I'm single yet--I'm single yet!
And years have flown since I came out!
In vain I sigh--in vain I fret-- Ye G.o.ds! what are the men about?
I vow I'm twenty!--O ye powers!
A spinster's lot is hard to bear-- On earth alone to pa.s.s her hours, And afterward lead apes--DOWN THERE!
No offer yet--no offer yet!
I'm puzzled quite to make it out: For every beau my cap I set-- What, what, what ARE the men about?
They don't propose--they WON'T propose, For fear, perhaps, I'd not say, "Yes!"
Just let them try--for Heaven knows I'm tired of single-blessedness.
Not married yet--not married yet-- The deuce is in the men, I fear!
I'm like a--something to be let, And to be LET ALONE--that's clear.
They say, "She's pretty--but no c.h.i.n.k-- And love without it runs in debt!"
It agitates my nerves to think That I have had no offer yet.
Lady of England.
Lady of England--o'er the seas Thy name was borne on every breeze, Till all this sunset clime became Familiar with Victoria's name.
Though seas divide us many miles, Yet, for the Queen of those fair isles, Which gave our fathers birth, there roves A blessing from this Land of Groves.
Our Fatherland!--Fit theme for song!
When thou art named, what memories throng!
Shall England cease our love to claim?
Not while our language is the same.
Scion of kings! so live and reign, That, when thy nation's swelling strain Is breathed amid our forests green, We too may sing, "G.o.d save the Queen!"
Oh, This Love!
Music--"Jess Macfarlane."
Oh, this love--this love!
I ainse the pa.s.sion slighted; But hearts that truly love, Must break or be united.
Oh, this love!
When first he cam' to woo, I little cared aboot him; But seene I felt as though I could na' live without him.
Oh, this love!
He brought to me the ring, My hand asked o' my mither-- I could na' bear the thought That he should we anither.
Oh, this love!
And now I'm a' his ain-- In a' his joys I mingle; Nae for the wealth of warlds Wad I again be single!
Oh, this love!
Mary.
One balmy summer night, Mary, Just as the risen moon Had thrown aside her fleecy veil, We left the gay saloon; And in a green, sequestered spot, Beneath a drooping tree, Fond words were breathed, by you forgot, That still are dear to me, Mary, That still are dear to me.
Oh, we were happy, then, Mary-- Time lingered on his way, To crowd a lifetime in a night, Whole ages in a day!
If star and sun would set and rise Thus in our after years, The world would be a paradise, And not a vale of tears, Mary, And not a vale of tears.
I live but in the past, Mary-- The glorious day of old!
When love was h.o.a.rded in the heart, As misers h.o.a.rd their gold: And often like a bridal train, To music soft and low, The by-gone moments cross my brain, In all their summer glow, Mary, In all their summer glow.
These visions form and fade, Mary, As age comes stealing on, To bring the light and leave the shade Of days for ever gone!
The poet's brow may wear at last The bays that round it fall; But love has rose-buds of the past Far dearer than them all, Mary, Far dearer than them all!
