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O give me, from this heartless scene released,
Or lies the purple evening on the bay
But O, dear Anne! when midnight wind careers, And the gust pelting on the out-house shed Makes the cock shrilly on the rain-storm crow, To hear thee sing some ballad full of woe, Ballad of ship-wrecked sailor floating dead, Whom his own true-love buried in the sands! Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice remeasures Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures
The Things of Nature utter; birds or trees Or moan of ocean-gale in weedy caves, Or where the stiff grass mid the heath-plant waves, Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze.
The tedded hay, the first fruits of the soil,
* One of the names and (meriting to be the only one) of the Myosotis Scorpioides Palustris, a flower from six to twelve inches
So will not fade the flowers which Emmeline
In the cool morning twilight, early waked By her full bosom's joyless restlessness, Softly she rose, and lightly stole along, Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower, Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning breeze, Over their dim fast-moving shadows hung, Making a quiet image of disquiet In the smooth, scarcely moving river-pool. There, in that bower where first she owned her love, And let me kiss my own warm tear of joy From off her glowing cheek, she sate and stretched The silk upon the frame, and worked her name Between the Moss-Rose and Forg Et-Me-NotHer own dear name, with her own auburn hair! That forced to wander till sweet spring return, I yet might ne'er forget her smile, her look,
bigh, with blue blossom and bright yellow eye. It has the same name over the whole Empire of Germany (Virgismein nicht) and we believe, in Denmark and Sweden.