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Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves, And the broom 's betroth'd to the bee; But I will plight with the dainty rose, For fairest of all is she.

FAIR INES

O SAW ye not fair Ines?
She's gone into the West,

To dazzle when the sun is down,
And rob the world of rest:
She took our daylight with her,
The smiles that we love best,
With morning blushes on her cheek,
And pearls upon her breast.

O turn again, fair Ines,
Before the fall of night,

For fear the Moon should shine alone,
And stars unrivall'd bright;
And blessed will the lover be
That walks beneath their light,

And breathes the love against thy cheek
I dare not even write.

Would I had been, fair Ines,
That gallant cavalier

Who rode so gayly by thy side,
And whisper'd thee so near!

Were there no bonny dames at home,
Or no true lovers here,

That he should cross the seas to win The dearest of the dear?

I saw thee, lovely Ines,
Descend along the shore,

With bands of noble gentlemen,
And banners wav'd before;

And gentle youth and maidens gay,

And snowy plumes they wore;

It would have been a beauteous dream,

If it had been no more!

Alas, alas, fair Ines,

She went away with song,

With Music waiting on her steps,
And shoutings of the throng;

But some were sad, and felt no mirth,
But only Music's wrong,

In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell,
To her you've lov'd so long.

Farewell, farewell, fair Ines !
That vessel never bore

So fair a lady on its deck,
Nor danced so light before:
Alas for pleasure on the sea,
And sorrow on the shore !

The smile that bless'd one lover's heart
Has broken many more!

THE DEATH-BED

WE watch'd her breathing thro' the night,
Her breathing soft and low,

As in her breast the wave of life
Kept heaving to and fro.

So silently we seem'd to speak,
So slowly mov'd about,
As we had lent her half our powers
To eke her living out.

Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied -
We thought her dying when she slept,
And sleeping when she died.

For when the morn came dim and sad,
And chill with early showers,
Her quiet eyelids clos'd she had
Another morn than ours.

BALLAD

IT was not in the winter
Our loving lot was cast;
It was the time of roses,

We pluck'd them as we pass'd.

That churlish season never frown'd
On early lovers yet:

Oh, no-the world was newly crown'd
With flowers when first we met!

'T was twilight, and I bade you go, But still you held me fast;

It was the time of roses,

We pluck'd them as we pass'd.

What else could peer thy glowing cheek,
That tears began to stud?
And when I ask'd the like of Love,
You snatch'd a damask bud;

And op'd it to the dainty core,
Still glowing to the last.
It was the time of roses,
We pluck'd them as we pass'd.

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FROM "MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG"

HER DEATH

'Tis a stern and startling thing to think How often mortality stands on the brink

Of its grave without any misgiving:
And yet in this slippery world of strife,
In the stir of human bustle so rife,
There are daily sounds to tell us that Life
Is dying, and Death is living!

Ay, Beauty the Girl, and Love the Boy,
Bright as they are with hope and joy,

How their souls would sadden instanter, To remember that one of those wedding bells,

Which ring so merrily through the dells,
Is the same that knells

Our last farewells,
Only broken into a canter!

But breath and blood set doom at nought:
How little the wretched Countess thought,
When at night she unloos'd her sandal,
That the Fates had woven her burial cloth,
And that Death, in the shape of a Death's
Head Moth,

Was fluttering round her candle!

As she look'd at her clock of or-molu, For the hours she had gone so wearily through

At the end of a day of trial,

How little she saw in her pride of prime The dart of Death in the Hand of Time That hand which mov'd on the dial!

As she went with her taper up the stair,
How little her swollen eye was aware

That the Shadow which follow'd was double !

Or when she clos'd her chamber door,
It was shutting out, and for evermore,

The world and its worldly trouble.

Little she dreamt, as she laid aside
Her jewels, after one glance of pride,

They were solemn bequests to Vanity;
Or when her robes she began to doff
That she stood so near to the putting off
Of the flesh that clothes humanity.

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On her cheek an autumn flush,
Deeply ripen'd ; such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.

Round her eyes her tresses fell,
Which were blackest none could tell,
But long lashes veil'd a light
That had else been all too bright.

And her hat, with shady brim,
Made her tressy forehead dim;
Thus she stood amid the stooks,
Praising God with sweetest looks:

Sure, I said, heav'n did not mean
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean,
Lay thy sheaf adown and come,
Share my harvest and my home.

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I stayed to watch, a little space,
Her parted lips if she would sing ;
The waters clos'd 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.

I know my life will fade away, I know that I must vainly pine, For I am made of mortal clay, But she's divine !

ODE

AUTUMN

I

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