« السابقةمتابعة »
WE PARTED IN SADNESS.
Each felt that the past we could never recover, Each felt that the future no hope could re
store; She shudder'd at wringing the heart of her lover,
I dared not to say I must meet her no more.
Long years have gone by, and the spring-time
smiles ever, As o'er our young loves it first smiled in their
birth. Long years have gone by, yet that parting, 0!
never Can it be forgotten by either on earth. The note of each wild bird that carols toward
heaven, Must tell her of swift-winged hopes that were
mine, And the dew that steals over each blossom at
even, Tells me of the tear-drop that wept their
Who owns not she's peerless, who calls her not
fair, Who questions the beauty of ROSALIE CLARE? Let him saddle his courser and spur to the field, And though harnessed in proof he must perish
or yield; For no gallant can splinter, no charger may darc The lance that is couched for young ROSALIE
When goblets are flowing, and wit at the board Sparkles high, while the blood of the red grape
is pour'd, And fond wishes for fair ones around offer'd up From each lip that is wet from the dew of tho
cup, What name on the brimmer floats oftener there, Or is whisper'd more warmly, than ROSALIE
They may talk of the land of the olive and vine, Of the maids of the Ebro, the Arno, or Rhine; Of the houris that gladden the East with their
smiles, Where the sea's studded over with green sum
mer isles :
But what flower of far-away clime can compare With the blossom of ours—bright ROSALIE
Who owns she's not peerless, who calls her not
fair? Let him meet but the glances of ROSALIE CLARE! Let him list to her voice, let him gaze on her
form, And if, seeing and bearing, his soul do not warm, Let him go breathe it out in some less happy air Than that which is blessed by sweet Rosalie
UNLESS with my Amanda bless'd,
In vain I twine the woodbine bower; Unless to deck her sweeter breast,
In vain I rear the breathing flower.
Awaken'd by the genial year,
In vain the birds around me sing ; In vain the fresh'ning fields appear :Without my love there is no Spring.
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD
TO HIS LOVE.
Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will sit upon the rocks,
And I will make thee beds of roses,
A gown made of the finest wool,
A belt of straw and ivy buds,
116 THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE SHEPHERD.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE SHEPHERD.
If all the world and Love were young,
Time drives the flock from field to fold,
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,