Puslapio vaizdai
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"AHOY! and O-ho! and it's who's for And, with Love like a rose in the stern of

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It sang in the golden moonlight
From out the woodland hill.
I opened the window gently,
And all was dreamy dew
And oh the bird, my darling,
Was singing, singing of you!

I think of you in the day-time;
I dream of you by night -

I wake would you were near me !
And hot tears blind my sight.
I hear a sigh in the lime-tree,

The wind is floating through,
And oh the night, my darling,

Is longing, longing for you.

Nor think I can forget you!

I could not though I would! I see you in all around me,

The stream, the night, the wood; The flowers that sleep so gently, The stars above the blue, Oh! heaven itself, my darling, Is praying, praying for you.

CARPE DIEM

TO-DAY, what is there in the air
That makes December seem sweet May?
There are no swallows anywhere,
Nor crocuses to crown your hair,
And hail you down my garden way.

Last night the full moon's frozen stare
Struck me, perhaps; or did you say
Really,-you'd come, sweet friend and fair!
To-day?

To-day is here:- come! crown to-day
With Spring's delight or Spring's despair,
Love cannot bide old Time's delay:
Down my glad gardens light winds play,
And my whole life shall bloom and bear
To-day.

Walter Herries Pollock

BELOW THE HEIGHTS

I SAT at Berne, and watched the chain Of icy peaks and passes,

That towered like gods above the plain, In stern majestic masses.

I waited till the evening light
Upon their heads descended;
They caught it on their glittering height,
And held it there suspended.

I saw the red spread o'er the white,
How like a maiden's blushing,

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A tag, and is it thus that women suffer? We can inflict so little on such natures; We cannot make reprisals. Slavish tears For Edric, and, O Hel! a bloody gleam

Across her eyes, when I proclaimed the rights

Of Edmund's children. I am cut adrift, Far, far from the great, civilizing God, Dull, speechless, unappraised.

[A voice singing.] Is that a child
At babble with his vespers ?-Silver sweet!
It minds me of the holy brotherhood,
Chanting adown the banks. As yesterday

I see all clear, how as they moved they chanted,

And made a mute procession in the stream. [Gazing abstractedly on the water.]

Merrily sang the monks of Ely,
As Canute the king passed by.
Row to the shore, knights, said the king,
And let us hear the Churchmen sing.

Still are they singing? It was Candlemas,
My queen sat splendid at the prow and lis-

tened

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Without the door. A wail, a litany!
Enter Child singing.

Child. Miserere mei, Deus, secundam
magnam misericordiam tuam ;

Et secundum multitudinem miserationum tuarum, dele iniquitatem meam.

Can. How perfectly he sings the music! Child,

Who art thou with that voice, those dying cheeks?

Art thou an angel sent to wring my heart, Or is it mortal woe? Thine arms are full.

Child. Green, country herbs, they say, will staunch a wound,

And I have run about the fields and

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Was leaping all the while. But here is clary,

The blessed thistle, yarrow, sicklewort, And all-heal red as gore. I knew a wood So dark and cool, I crept for lily-leaves; Then it grew lonely, and I lost the way. But, oh, you must not beat me; it is done. Father, I stabbed him, throw away the whip!

Now God will scourge me. So I plucked the flowers,

And sang for mercy in the holy words
Priest Sampson taught me, Miserere!

Can.

This

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He looked. Oh, quickly tell me where he lies

Next room? or down the passage? Do you know

He was my uncle, and was kissing me,

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Come along, How can I go? time of day.

Can the blood

And take me where he is.
I do not know the path or
The leaves are fading.
flow long
Before it kills? I saw it spirt and jump;
I could not see it now. I ran and ran
Perchance I stayed too long about the fields.
"T is dark; no trees and hedges. He is gone,
And I am damned forever; the fresh herbs
Could once have saved me.

Can.

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Come hurtling through my brain. I am a
stranger

To our sweet Saviour Christ; I cannot pray;
I love the slaughter of my enemies,
And to exact full vengeance. Little one,
Thou shalt have fair, white cere-cloth, and
a circlet
Of purest gold. Now that I look on thee,
It grows soft in my heart as when they
chanted

He is chill and fainting; Across the stream, · Canute the king passed

Give me these hands.
Child. I am not much afraid.
Before I struck at him my skin was hot;
Now dew is falling on me; it is cool.
Let me lie in your arms where I can look
Up at the sky. There's some one . . . and
he grows

So kindly. Oh, he smiles down all the way,
Quite golden in my eyes.
Can.
He sees the moon.
How pale and cold he's growing! All the
flowers

Are slipping down. I cannot bear his

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by,

And listened. They shall sing about thy

grave.

[He bows himself over the child and weeps.]

THE BURIAL OF ROBERT
BROWNING

UPON St. Michael's Isle
They laid him for awhile

That he might feel the Ocean's full em-
brace,

And wedded be

To that wide sea

The subject and the passion of his race.
As Thetis, from some lovely under-
ground

Springing, she girds him round
With lapping sound

And silent space :

Then, on more honor bent,

She sues the firmament,

And bids the hovering, western clouds com

bine

To spread their sabled amber on her lustrous brine.

It might not be
He should lie free

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