Sweet Stome !

Mid plasures and palacer shough we may swam
Be it ever so hamble, there's no place like home!
A charm from the sky seems to hallow as there
which, seek through the world, is neer met with elsewhere!

Home, home, - sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home! there's no place bhe keme!

John Howard Fayne./ POEMS OF HOME.



| And I hae sworn by my God, my Jeanie,

And by that kind heart o' thine, THERE are who say the lover's heart

By a' the stars sown thick owre heaven, Is in the loved one's merged ;

That thou shalt aye be mine! 0, never by love's own warm art So cold a plea was urged !

Then foul fa’ the hands that wad loose sic bands, No!-- hearts that love hath crowned or crossed! And the heart that wad part sic luve ! Love fondly knits together ;

But there's nae hand can loose my band, But not a thought or hue is lost

But the finger o' Him abuve. That made a part of either,

Though the wee, wee cot maun be my bield,

And my claithing ne'er sae mean, It is an ill-told tale that tells

I wad lap me up rich i' the faulds o'luve, Of “hearts by love made one":

Heaven's armfu' o'mny Jean.
He grows who near another's dwells
More conscious of his own;

Her white arm wad be a pillow for me,
In each spring up new thoughts and powers Fu' safter than the down;

That, mid love's warm, clear weather, | And Luve wad winnow owre us his kind, kind Together tend like climbing flowers,

wings, And, turning, grow together.

And sweetly I'd sleep, and soun'.

Come here to me, thou lass o' my luve ! Such fictions blink love's better part,

Come here and kneel wi' me ! Yield up its half of bliss ;

The morn is fu' o' the presence o' God,
The wells are in the neighbor heart,

And I canna pray without thee.
When there is thirst in this :
There findeth love the passion-flowers

The morn wind is sweet ’mang the beds o' new On which it learns to thrive,

flowers, Makes honey in another's bowers,

The wee birds sing kindlie and hie ; But brings it home to hive.

Our gudeman leans owre his kale-yard dike,

And a blythe auld bodie is he. Love's life is in its own replies, –

The Beuk maun be ta’en whan the carle comes To each low beat it beats,

hame, Smiles back the smiles, sighs back the sighs, Wi’ the holy psalmodie ; And every throb repeats.

And thou maun speak o' me to thy God, Then, since one loving heart still throws

And I will speak o' thee. Two shadows in love's sun,

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. How should two loving hearts compose And mingle into one ? THOMAS KIBBLE HERVEY.


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MAKE me no vows of constancy, dear friend, THOU HAST SWORN BY THY GOD, MY JEANIE. 1 To love me, though I die, thy whole life long,

And love no other till thy days shall end, --Thou hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie,

Nay, it were rash and wrong.
By that pretty white hand o' thine,
And by a’ the lowing stars in heaven, If thou canst love another, be it so ;
That thou wad aye be mine !

| I would not reach out of my quiet grave

To bind thy heart, if it should choose to go ;--- Soft and tender as her soul;
Love should not be a slave.

Love's dewy light doth drown her,

And the braided locks that crown her My placid ghost, I trust, will walk serene

Than autumn's trees are browner,
In clearer light than gilds those earthly morns, When the golden shadows roll
Above the jealousies and envies keen

Through the forests in the evening, when cathe-
Which sow this life with thorns.

dral turrets toll,

And the purple sun advanceth to its goal.
Thou wouldst not feel my shadowy caress,
If, after death, my soul should linger here;

Her cottage was a dwelling
Men's hearts crave tangible, close tenderness,

All regal homes excelling,
Love's presence, warm and near.

But, ah! beyond the telling

Was the beauty round it spread, -It would not make me sleep more peacefully

The wave and sunshine playing, That thou wert wasting all thy life in woe

Like sisters each arraying,
For my poor sake; what love thou hast for me,

Far down the sea-plants swaying
Bestow it ere I go !

Upon their coral-bed,

And languid as the tresses on a sleeping maiden's Carve not upon a stone when I am dead

The praises which remorseful mourners give When the summer breeze is dead.
To women's graves, — a tardy recompense, —
But speak them while I live.

Need we say that Maurice loved her,

And that no blush reproved her, Heap not the heavy marble on my head

When her throbbing bosom moved her To shut away the sunshine and the dew; To give the heart she gave ? Let small blooms grow there, and let grasses That by dawn-light and by twilight, wave,

And, O blessed moon, by thy light, ----And rain-drops filter through.

When the twinkling stars on high light

The wanderer o'er the wave, Thou wilt meet many fairer and more gay

His steps unconscious led him where Glengariff's Than I ; but, trust me, thou canst never find

waters lave One who will love and serve thee night and day | Each mossy bank and cave. With a more single niind.

The sun his gold is flinging, Forget me when I die! The violets

The happy birds are singing, Above my rest will blossom just as blue,

And bells are gayly ringing
Nor miss thy tears ; e'en Nature's self forgets ;- La

Along Glengariff's sea ;
But while I live, be true!

And crowds in many a galley
To the happy marriage rally

Of the maiden of the valley

And the youth of Céim-an-eich ;

Old eyes with joy are weeping, as all ask on

bended knee,
ALICE was a chieftain's daughter, | A blessing, gentle Alice, upon thee.
And though many suitors sought her,

She so loved Glengariff's water
That she let her lovers pine.
Her eye was beauty's palace,

And her cheek an ivory chalice,

Through which the blood of Alice MINE eyes he closed, but open left the cell
Gleamed soft as rosiest wine,

Of fancy, my internal sight, by which And her lips like lusmore blossoms which the Abstract, as in a trance, methought I saw, fairies intertwine,

Though sleeping, where I lay, and saw the shape And her heart a golden mine.

Still glorious before whom awake I stood ;

Who, stooping, opened my left side, and took She was gentler and shyer

From thence a rib, with cordial spirits warm, Than the light fawn which stood by her, And life-blood streaming fresh ; wide was the And her eyes emit a fire







But suddenly with flesh filled up and healed :

The rib he formed and fashioned with his hands;
Under his forming hands a creature grew,

HERE have I found at last a home of peace Manlike, but different sex, so lovely fair,

To hide me from the world ; far from its noise, That what seemed fair in all the world seemed To feed that spirit, which, though sprung from now

earth, Mean, or in her summed up, in her contained

| And linked to human beings by the bond And in her looks, which from that time infused

Of earthly love, hath yet a loftier aim

Than perishable joy, and through the calm And into all things from her air inspired

That sleeps amid the mountain solitude, The spirit of love and amorous delight.

Can hear the billows of eternity, She disappeared, and left me dark ; I waked

| And hear delighted. ... To find her, or forever to deplore

There are thoughts Her loss, and other pleasures all abjure :

That slumber in the soul, like sweetest sounds When out of hope, behold her, not far off,

Amid the harp's loosestrings, till airs from Heaven Such as I saw her in my dream, adorned

On earth, at dewy nightfall, visitant, With what all earth or Heaven could bestow

Awake the sleeping melody! Such thoughts, To make her amiable. On she came,

My gentle Mary, I have owed to thee. Led by her heavenly Maker, though unseen,

And if thy voice e'er melt into my soul And guided by his voice, nor uninformed

With a dear home-toned whisper, — if thy face Of nuptial sanctity and marriage rites :

E'er brighten in the unsteady gleams of light Grace was in all her steps, Heaven in her eye,

From our own cottage-hearth, - O Mary! then In every gesture dignity and love.

My overpowered spirit shall recline I, overjoyed, could not forbear aloud :

Upon thy inmost heart, till it become, - This turn hath made amends ; thou hast Thou sinless seraph, almost worthy thee ! fulfilled

JOHN WILSON. Thy words, Creator bounteous and benign, Giver of all things fair, but fairest this Of all thy gifts, nor enviest. I now see

TO A LADY BEFORE MARRIAGE. Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, myself Before me; Woman is her name, of man 10, FORMED by Nature, and refined by Art, Extracted : for this cause he shall forego With charms to win, and sense to fix the heart! Father and mother, and to his wife adhere; By thousands sought, Clotilda, canst thou free And they shall be one flesh, one heart, one Thy crowd of captives and descend to me, soul.”

Content in shades obscure to waste thy life, She heard me thus, and though divinely | A hidden beauty and a country wife ? brought,

0, listen while thy summers are my theme ! Yet innocence and virgin modesty,

| Ah! soothe thy partner in his waking dream! Her virtue and the conscience of her worth, In some small hamlet on the lonely plain, That would be wooed, and not unsought be won, Where Thames through meadows rolls his mazy Not obvious, not obtrusive, but retired,

train, The more desirable ; or, to say all,

Or where high Windsor, thick with greens arNature herself, though pure of sinful thought, rayed, Wrought in her so, that, seeing me, she turned : Waves his old oaks, and spreads his ample shade, I followed her; she what was honor knew, Fancy has figured out our calm retreat ; And with obsequious majesty approved

Already round the visionary seat My pleaded reason. To the nuptial bower Our limes begin to shoot, our flowers to spring, I led her blushing like the morn: all Heaven, The brooks to murmur, and the birds to sing. And happy constellations on that hour

Where dost thou lie, thou thinly peopled green, Shed their selectest influence; the earth

Thou nameless lawn, and village yet unseen, Gave sign of gratulation, and each hill ; Where sons, contented with their native ground, Joyous the birds ; fresh gales and gentle airs Whispered it to the woods, and from their wings And the tanned peasant and his ruddy bride Flung rose, flung odors from the spicy shrub, Were born together, and together died, Disporting, till the amorous bird of night Where early larks best tell the morning light, Sung spousal, and bid haste the evening star And only Philomel disturbs the night? On his hill-top, to light the bridal lamp. Midst gardens here my humble pile shall rise,

Milton. With sweets surrounded of ten thousand dyes ;

All savage where th' embroidered gardens end, My love is now awake out of her dream,
The haunt of echoes, shall my woods ascend; And her fair eyes like stars that dimmed were
And O, if Heaven th' ambitious thought ap- With darksome cloud, now show their goodly

beams A rill shall warble 'cross the gloomy grove, More bright than Hesperus his head doth rear. A little rill, o'er pebbly beds conveyed, | Come now, ye damsels, daughters of delight, Gush down the steep, and glitter through the Help quickly her to dight; glade.

But first come, ye fair Hours, which were begot, What cheering scents these bordering banks In Jove's sweet paradise, of Day and Night;

exhale ! How loud that heifer lows from yonder vale! And all, that ever in this world is fair, That thrush how shrill ! his note so clear, so high, Do make and still repair; He drowns each feathered minstrel of the sky. And ye three handmaids of the Cyprian Queen, Here let me trace beneath the purpled morn The which do still adorn her beauties' pride, The deep-mouthed beagle and the sprightly horn, Help to adorn my beautifulest bride : Or lure the trout with well-dissembled flies, And, as ye her array, still throw between Or fetch the fluttering partridge from the skies. Some graces to be seen ; Nor shall thy hand disdain to crop the vine, And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing, The downy peach or flavored nectarine ;

The whiles the woods shall answer, and your Or rob the beehive of its golden hoard,

echo ring And bear the unbought luxuriance to thy board. Sometimes my books by day shall kill the hours, Now is my love all ready forth to come : While from thy needle rise the silken flowers, Let all the virgins therefore well await; And thou, by turns, to ease my feeble sight, And ye, fresh boys, that tend upon her groom,

Prepare yourselves, for he is coming straight. 0, when I mark thy twinkling eyes opprest, Set all your things in seemly good array, Soft whispering, let me warn my love to rest; Fit for so joyful day, — Then watch thee, charmed, while sleep locks every The joyful'st day that ever sun did see. sense,

Fair Sun ! show forth thy favorable ray,
And to sweet Heaven commend thy innocence. And let thy lifeful heat not fervent be,
Thus reigned our fathers o'er the rural fold, For fear of burning her sunshiny face,
Wise, hale, and honest, in the days of old ; Her beauty to disgrace.
Till courts arose, where substance pays for show, O fairest Phoebus ! father of the Muse!
And specious joys are bought with real woe. | If ever I did honor thee aright,


Or sing the thing that might thy mind delight,
Do not thy servant's simple boon refuse,

But let this day, let this one day be mine ;

Let all the rest be thine. WAKE now, my love, awake ; for it is time;

Then I thy sovereign praises loud will sing,

That all the woods shall answer, and their echo The rosy Morn long since left Tithon's bed, All ready to her silver coach to climb;

ring. And Phoebus 'gins to show his glorious head. Hark! now the cheerful birds do chant their lays,

Lo! where she comes along with portly pace, And carol of Love's praise.

Like Phæbe, from her chamber of the east, The merry lark her matins sings aloft ;

Arising forth to run her mighty race, The thrush replies ; the mavis descant plays ;

Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best. The ouzel shrills ; the ruddock warbles soft ;

So well it her beseems, that ye would ween So goodly all agree, with sweet consent,

Some angel she had been. To this day's merriment.

Her long loose yellow locks, like golden wire, Ah! my dear love, why do you sleep thus long,

Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers atween, When meeter were that you should now awake,

Do like a golden mantle her attire ; T' await the coming of your joyous make, *

And, being crowned with a garland green, And hearken to the birds' love-learned song,

| Seem like some maiden queen. The dewy leaves among !

Her modest eyes, abashed to behold

So many gazers as on her do stare, That all the woods then answer, and their echo Upon the lowly ground affixed are; ring

Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold, | But blush to hear her praises sung so loud,

* Mate.

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