CV. A VALEDICTION. God be with thee my beloved,-God be with thee! Thy face unto the north, Moor and pleasance all around thee and beneath thee, While I who try to reach thee, With the farewell and the hollo, Alas I can but teach thee, God be with thee my beloved,-God be with thee. Can I teach thee my beloved,-can I teach thee? The counsel would be light, The wisdom, poor of all that could enrich thee. My raising would depress thee, My choice of light would blind thee, Of way, would leave behind thee, Of end, would leave bereft. Alas, I can but bless thee! May God teach thee my beloved,-May God teach thee. Can I bless thee my beloved,-can I bless thee? From mine own tears keep dry? What flowers grow in my field wherewith to dress thee? My calmnesses would move thee, Alas, I can but love thee! May God bless thee my beloved,-may God bless thee. Can I love thee my beloved,-can I love thee? With no help in my hand, When strong as death I fain would watch above thee? My love-kiss can deny No tear that falls beneath it; Mine oath of love can swear thee And thou diest while I breathe it, And I can but die! May God love thee my beloved,-may God love thee. Mrs. Browning. CVI. THE LONG-AGO. Eyes which can but ill define As the heart of childhood brings From its own unsounded springs, Many a growth of pain and care, On that deep-retiring shore Tombs where lonely love repines, Tho' the doom of swift decay Still the weight will find a leaven, Lord Houghton. CVII. IN THE VALLEY OF CAUTERETS. All along the valley, stream that flashest white, I walked with one I loved two and thirty years ago. A. Tennyson. CVIII. Long years have passed, old friend, since we And friends long loved by thee and me, Our locks, old friend, now thinly grow, While some, like flowers 'mid Autumn's snow, And so, in our hearts, though one by one, Youth's sunny hopes have set. Thank heaven, not all their light is gone,— Then here's to thee, old friend, and long To brighten still with talk and song This short life, ere it fleet. And still as death comes stealing on, Let's never, old friend, forget, Ev'n while we sigh o'er blessings gone, T. Moore. |