Should fortune smile, and hope be bright,
And from the world be nought to fear;
Oh! what can add to that delight
But the one thought that thou art near?
Then pleasure, with its thousand smiles,
Will vainly strive this heart to free;
No joy I'll see but in those smiles,
No rapture feel apart from thee.
CAN CHARM BUT FOR A DAY.
E. C. EMBURY.
THE maiden sat at her busy wheel,
Her heart was light and free,
And ever in cheerful song broke forth
Her bosom's harmless glee.
Her song was in mockery of Love,
And oft I heard her say,
"The gather'd rose and the stolen heart
Can charm but for a day."
I looked on the maiden's rosy cheek,
And her lip so full and bright,
And I sighed to think that the traitor, Love,
Should conquer a heart so light.
But she thought not of future days of woe,
While she caroll'd in tones so gay,
"The gathered rose and the stolen heart
Can charm but for a day."
A year pass'd on, and again I stood
By the humble cottage door;
The maid sat at her busy wheel,
But her look was blithe no more;
The big tear stood in her downcast eye,
And with sighs I heard her say,
"The gather'd rose and the stolen heart
Can charm but for a day."
O! well I knew what had dimm'd her eye,
And made her cheek so pale;
The maid had forgotten her early song,
While she listen'd to Love's soft tale.
She had tasted the sweets of his poison'd cup,
It had wasted her lip away;
And the stolen heart, like the gather'd rose,
Had charm'd but for a day.
ASK ME NOT WHY I SHOULD LOVE HER.
Ask me not why I should love her;
Look upon those soul-full eyes!
Look, while mirth or feeling move her,
And see there how sweetly rise
Thoughts gay and gentle from a breast,
Which is of innocence the nest-
Which, though each joy from it were shred,
By truth would still be tenanted.
See, from those sweet windows peeping,
Emotions tender, bright, and pure,
And wonder not the faith I'm keeping
Every trial can endure!
Wonder not that looks so winning,
Still for me new ties are spinning;
Wonder not that heart so true,
Keeps mine from ever changing too.
IS THY NAME MARY?
O. WENDELL HOLMES.
Is thy name MARY, maiden fair?
Such should, methinks, its music be;
The sweetest name that mortals bear,
Were best befitting thee;
And she to whom it once was given,
Was half of earth and half of heaven.
I hear thy voice, I see thy smile,
I look upon thy folded hair;
Ah! while we dream not, they beguile,
Our hearts are in the snare;
And she who chains a wild bird's wing,
Must start not if her captive sing.
So, lady, like the leaf that falls,
To all but thee unseen, unknown,
When evening shades thy silent walls,
Then read it all alone;
In stillness read, in darkness seal,
Forget, despise, but not reveal!
SWEET MOTHER, WHY LINGER AWAY?
THE WORLD ALL LOVE BEFORE THEE.
E.. A. POE.
I SAW thee on thy bridal day
When a burning blush came o'er thee,
Though happiness around thee lay,
The world all love before thee;
And in thine eye a kindling light
(Whatever it might be)
Was all on earth my aching sight
Of loveliness could see..
That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame➡
As such it well may pass
Though its glow hath raised a fiercer flame
In the breast of him, alas!
Who saw thee on that bridal day,
When that deep blush would come o'er thee,
Though happiness around thee lay,
The world all love before thee.
SWEET MOTHER, WHY LINGER AWAY?
MOTHER, Sweet mother, why linger away?
Voices in sorrow are chiding thy stay;
Sad is our dwelling and cheerless our hearth,
Faded our earth star and silent our mirth.
Come to thy home 'neath the wide-spreading pine;
Strangers have taken the place that was thine;
Love's tender accents no longer we hear,
Come to us, mother, thou only art dear.
Love's tender accents, &c.
Lone is the spot where they've laid thee to rest,
Cold is the sod they have heap'd on thy breast;
Why hast thou left us heartbroken to weep?
Say, wilt thou never awake from thy sleep?
Was it thy hand gently laid on our brow?
Speak to us, mother-oh! speak to us now..
Art thou in heaven? there, there would we be
When shall we come, dearest mother, to thee?
Art thou in heaven, &c.
WHEN OTHER FRIENDS ARE ROUND THEE.
WHEN other friends are round thee,
And other hearts are thine;
When other bays have crown'd thee,
More fresh and green than mine,
Then think how sad and lonely
This doating heart will be,
Which, while it throbs, throbs only,
Beloved one, for thee!
Yet do not think I doubt thee,
I know thy truth remains;
I would not live without thee,
For all the world contains:
Thou art the star that guides me,
Along life's troubled sea,
And whatever fate betides me,
This heart still turns to thee.
SOME THINGS LOVE ME.
T. BUCHANAN READ.
ALL within and all without me
Feel a melancholy thrill:
And the darkness hangs about me,
Oh, how still!
my feet the river glideth
Through the shadow, sullen dark;
On the stream the white moon rideth,
Like a bark.
And the linden leans above me,
Till I think some things there be
In this dreary world that love me,
Even me !
Gentle flow'rs are springing near me,
Shedding sweetest breath around;
Countless voices rise to cheer me,
From the ground.
And the lone bird comes-I hear it,
In the tall and windy pine,
Pour the sadness of its spirit
Into mine;
There it swings and sings above me,
Till I think some things there be
In this dreary world that love me,
Even me!
Now the moon hath floated to me,
On the stream I see it sway,
Swinging, boat-like, as 'twould woo me
Far away.
And the stars bend from the azure,
I could reach them where I lie,
And they whisper all the pleasure
Of the sky.
There they hang and smile above me
Till I think some things there be
In the very heavens that love me,
Even me!
NAY, love, let me soothe these emotions to rest;
Who worth this bright tear in your eye!
May this kiss quell the terrors that throb in your breast,
And quiet that tremulous sigh.
You know that I love you. Glad years have gone by
Since I first sealed that love on your brow;
Yet believe me, my mourner, and quiet that sigh,
I love you more fervently now.
Nay, love, let me soothe these emotions to rest;
Who worth this bright tear in your eye!
May this kiss quell the terrors that throb in your breast,
And quiet that tremulous sigh.
What, though I be wayward and wilful at times,
You know that the warmest of skies,
That fondly bends over the lov'liest climes,
Is the wildest when tempests will rise.
I am true to you ever; my feelings still flow
Like a full river's waves to the sea;
Though the rude wind may ruffle its surface, below
Its tides set for ever to thee.
You smile, and love's stars beam again from our sky,
The gloom of a moment to light:
Yet but for that sorrow, unknown were this joy;
And those stars are unseen, but for night.
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