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? To dazzle when the sun is down, O turn again, fair Ines, For fear the Moon should shine alone, And breathes the love against thy cheek Would I had been, fair Ines, Who rode so gayly by thy side, Were there no bonny dames at home, That he should cross the seas to win The dearest of the dear? I saw thee, lovely Ines, With bands of noble gentlemen, 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, But some were sad, and felt no mirth, In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell, Farewell, farewell, fair Ines ! So fair a lady on its deck, The smile that bless'd one lover's heart THE DEATH-BED WE watch'd her breathing thro' the night, As in her breast the wave of life So silently we seem'd to speak, Our very hopes belied our fears, For when the morn came dim and sad, BALLAD IT was not in the winter We pluck'd them as we pass'd. That churlish season never frown'd Oh, no-the world was newly crown'd '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, And op'd it to the dainty core, 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: Ay, Beauty the Girl, and Love the Boy, How their souls would sadden instanter, To remember that one of those wedding bells, Which ring so merrily through the dells, Our last farewells, But breath and blood set doom at nought: 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, That the Shadow which follow'd was double ! Or when she clos'd her chamber door, The world and its worldly trouble. Little she dreamt, as she laid aside They were solemn bequests to Vanity; On her cheek an autumn flush, Round her eyes her tresses fell, And her hat, with shady brim, Sure, I said, heav'n did not mean I stayed to watch, a little space, And still I stayed a little more : 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 |