FAREWELL TO NANCY. AE fond kiss-and then we sever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee: I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy; We had ne'er been broken-hearted. Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! Ae fareweel-alas, forever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee; Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. ROBERT BURNS. WHEN spring, to woods and wastes around, Brought bloom and joy again, The murdered traveller's bones were found, Far down a narrow glen. THE MURDERED TRAVELLER. The fragrant birch, above him, hung And many a vernal blossom sprung, The red-bird warbled, as he wrought But there was weeping far away, With watching many an anxious day, Were sorrowful and dim. They little knew, who loved him so, Nor how, when round the frosty pole Nor how, when strangers found his bones, They dressed the hasty bier, And marked his grave with nameless stones, Unmoistened by a tear. MADRIGAL. But long they looked, and feared, and wept, And dreamed, and started as they slept, For joy that he was come. Long, long they looked-but never spied Nor knew the fearful death he died, Far down that narrow glen. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. MADRIGAL. As I saw fair Chloris walk alone, ANONYMOUS THE MOTTO. SOMEBODY sent me a dear little note, The paper was Moinier's, the writing was fair; No, let the Muse keep the secret from air, Somebody walked with me, light was her tread Shall I here tell you what somebody said? The sunlight has faded—the words have grown cold— believe in the motto or no, Do you "C'est le cœur qui fait valoir les mots." Somebody sang me a sweet little song, Full of all tender, unspeakable things, Shall I repeat them? no, ever so long They have flown off on the swiftest of wings, And the nest they deserted is white with the snow; Ah! "C'est le cœur qui fait valoir les mots." Shall I with censure link somebody's name For the note, and the walk, and the fly-away birds? She had no heart to give value to words; JOHN R. THOMPSON. |