The Library of Poetry and Song

IF thou dost bid thy friend farewell,
But for one night though that farewell may be,
Press thou his hand in thine.
How canst thou tell how far from thee
Fate or caprice may lead his steps ere that to-morrow comes ?
Men have been known to lightly turn the corner of a street,
And days have grown to months, and months to lagging years,
Ere they have looked in loving eyes again.
Parting, at best, is underlaid
With tears and pain.
Therefore, lest sudden death should come between,
Or time, or distance, clasp with pressure firm
The hand of him who goeth forth ;
Unseen, Fate goeth too.
Yes, find thou always time to say some earnest word
Between the idle talk,
Lest with thee henceforth,
Night and day, regret should walk,

CoventRY PATMORE,

“I do not rage ngainst his high decree,
Nor for myself do ask that grace shall be ;
But for my love on earth who mourns for me.
“Great Spirit! Let me see my love again
And comfort him one hour, and I were fain
To pay a thousand years of fire and pain."
Then said the pitying angel, “ Nay, repent
That wild vow! Look, the dial-linger 's bent
Down to the last hour of thy punishment!"
But still she wailed, “I pray thee, let me go !
I cannot rise to peace and leave him so.
0, let me soothe him in his bitter woe !"

The brazen gates ground sullenly ajar, And upward, joyous, like a rising star, She rose and vanished in the ether far.

O, wae's mc for the hour, Willic,

When we thegither met,
O, wae's me for the time, Willie,

That our first tryst was set !
O, wae's me for the loanin' green

Where we were wont to gae,
And wae's mie for the destinie

That gart me luve thee sae !
O, dinna mind my words, Willie,

I downa seek to blanie;
But 0, it's hard to live, Willie,

And dree a warld's shame!
Het tears are hailin' ower your cheek,

And hạilin' ower your chin :
Why weep ye sac for worthlessness,

For sorrow, and for sin ?
I'm weary o’this warlıl, Willie,

And sick wi' a' I sce,
I canna live as I ha'e lived,

Or be as I should be.
But fauld unto your heart, Willie,

The heart that still is thine,
And kiss ance mair the white, white cheek

Ye said was red langsyne.
A stoun' gaes through my heid, Willie,

A sair stoun' through my heart ;
O, haud me up and let me kiss

Thy brow ere we twa pairt. Anither, and anither yet!

How fast my life-strings break !Fareweel' fareweel! through yon kirk-yard

Step lichtly for my sake ! The lav'rock in the lift, Willie,

That lilts far ower our beid,
Will sing the morn as merrilie

Abune the clay.cauld deid ;
Anıl this green turf we're sittin' on,

Widew-craps shimmerin' sheen,
Will hap the heart that luvit thee

As warld has seldom seen.
But 0, remember me, Willie,

On land where'er ye be ;
And O, think on the leal, leal heart,

That ne'er luvit ane but thee !
And 0, think on the cauld, cauld mools

That file my yellow hair,
That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin

Ye liever sall kiss mair!

But soon adown the dying sunset sailing,
And like a wounded bird her pinions trailing,
She Muttered back, with broken-hearted wailing.

She sobbed, “I found him by the summer sea
Reclined, his head upon a maiden's knee,
She curled his hair and kissed him. Woe is me!"

She wept, “ Now let my punishment begin !
I have been fond and foolish. Let me in
To expiate my sorrow and my sin.”

The angel answered, “Nay, sad soul, go higher !
To be deceived in your true heart's desire
Was bitterer than a thousand years of fire !"

JOHN HAY.

DEATH AND THE YOUTH. “Not yet, the flowers are in my path,

The sun is in the sky;
Not yet, my heart is full of liope,

I cannot bear to die.

“Not vet, I never knew till now

How precious life could be ; My heart is full of love, O Death!

I cannot come with thee!”

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

A WOMAN'S LOVE.

A SENTINEL angel, sitting high in glory, Heard this shrill wail ring out from Purgatory : “ Have mercy, iniyhty angel, liear my story!

But Love and Hope, enchanted twain,

Passed in their falschood by ; Death came again, and then he said,

“I'm ready now to die !"

LETITIA ELIZABETH LAVDOX

BEREAVEMENT AND DEATH.

RESIGNATION.

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,

Clothed with celestial grace ;
TURE is no flock, however watched and tended, And beautiful with all the soul's expansion
But one dead lamb is there!

Shall we behold her face.
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,
But has one vacant chair !

And though, at times, impetuous with enotion

And anguish long suppressed,
The air is full of farewells to the dying, The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean,
And mournings for the dead ;

That cannot be at rest,
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,
Will not be comforted !

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling

We may not wholly stay ;
Let us be patient! These severe afflictions By silence sanctifying, not concealing,
Not from the ground arise,

The grief that must have way.
But oftentimes celestial benedictions

Assume this dark disguise.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

We see but dimly through the mists and vapors;

BURIED TO-DAY.
Amid these earthly damps
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers Buruen to-day.
May be heaven's distant lamps.

When the soft green buds are bursting out,

And up on the south-wind comes a shout
There is no Death! What seems so is transition : Of village boys and girls at play
This life of mortal breath

In the mild spring evening gray.
Is but a suburb of the life elysian,
Whose portal we call Death.

Taken away,

Sturdy of heart and stout of limb, She is not dead, — the child of our affection, From eyes that drew half their light from But gone unto that school

him, Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And put low, low underneath the clay, And Christ himself doth rule.

In his spring, on this spring day.

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The Library of Poetry and Song, Volumul 1