« PreviousContinue »
And I ha' mony a bonnie shell
He picked frae aff the strand; I would na part wi' ane o'them
For the wealth of a’ Scotland.
For there it was my ain dear luve
Did plight his troth to me, And there the cruel mariners
Did force him o'er the sea.
Accursed be those mariners,
An ill death may they dee, For sundering twa gentle hearts
That loved sae tenderlie!
Oh! would that a’ the sighs I've sighed
Could blaw his ship to land;
Could float it to the strand.
For sad is now my voice sae gay,
And dim my ee sae bright, And heavy, heavy is my heart,
That used to be sae light.
Faded and hollow is my cheek
That used sae red to be,
That waved abune mine 'ee.
And worn and wasted is the form
He used to ca' sae fair,
And cankered by despair.
For in the lang, lang winter nights,
When the wind is blawing loud, And when the blazing lightning
Bursts the dark womb of the cloud,
And the wild sea bird strains her wing
The sheltering cliffs to gain,
By the dark and stormy main ;
Or lowly on the wet sea-sand,
Upon my bended knees,
The waters can appease,
That He will guide my true love's ship
Frae rocks and dangers free,
TWO LOVES AND A LIFE.
(FOUNDED ON THE DRAMA OF THAT NAME BY MESSRS. TOM
TAYLOR AND CHARLES READE.)
To the scaffold's foot she came :
She had heard her lover's doom,
To the scaffold now she came,
name, Rose, and yet in silence died, Annie nestled by his side. Over Annie's face he bent, Round her waist his fingers went; 61 Wife” he called her-called her li wife !" Simple word to cost a life! In Ruth's breast the pardon lay; But she coldly turned away: " He has sealed his traitor fate, I can love, and I can hate.” " Annie is his wife,'
they said. “Be it wife, then, to the dead; Since the dying she will mate: I can love, and I can hate!" " What their sin? They do but love; Let this thought thy bosom move." Came the jealous answer straight“I can love, and I car hate!" “ “Mercy!" still they cried. But she: “Who has mercy upon me ? Who? My life is desolateI can love, and I can hate!” From the scaffold stairs she went, Shouts the noonday silence rent, All the air was quick with cries, " See the traitor ! see, he dies ! ” Back she looked, with stifled scream, Saw the axe upswinging gleam: All her woman's anger died,“From the king!" she faintly cried “From the king. His name—behold !": Quick the parchment she unroll’d:
Paused the axe in upward swing,-
(By permission. From “ London Society.'')
ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL.
LEIGH HUNT. 1 John iii. 14. We know that we have passed from death unto
life, because we love the brethren. He that loveth not his brother abideth in death. ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel, writing in a book of gold : Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in the room he said, “What writest thou ?”—The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, “ The names of those who love the Lord.” " And is mine one ?” said Abou. “Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still; and said, “I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."
The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night It came again with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
KOSSUTH'S FAREWELL TO HIS COUTNRY.
FAREWELL, my beloved country! Farewell, land of the Magyar! Farewell, thou land of sorrow! I shall never more behold the summit of thy mountains. I shall never again give the name of my country to that cherished soil where I drank from my mother's bosom the milks of justice and liberty. Pardon, oh! pardon him who is henceforth condemned to wander far from thee, because he combated for thy happiness. Pardon one who can only call free that spot of thy soil where he now kneels with a few of the faithful children of conquered Hungary! My last looks are fixed on my country, and I see thee overwhelmed with anguish. I look into the future ; but that future is overshadowed. Thy plains are covered with blood, the redness of which pitiless destruction will change to black, the emblem of mourning for the victories thy sons have gained over the sacrilegious enemies of thy sacred soil.
How many grateful hearts have sent their prayers to the throne of the Almighty! How many tears have gushed from their very depth to implore pity! How much blood has been shed to testify that the Magyar idolizes his country, and that he knows how to die for it! And yet, land of my love, thou art in slavery. From thy very bosom will be forged the chains to bind all that is sacred, and to aid all that is sacrilegious. Oh, Almighty Creator, if thou lovest thy people to whom thou didst give victory under our heroic ancestor, Arapad, I implore thee not to sink them in degradation. I speak to thee, my country, thus from the abyss of my despair, and whilst yet lingering on the threshold of thy soil. Pardon me that a great number of thy sons have shed their blood for thee. on my account. I pleaded for thee I hoped for thee, even in the dark moment when on thy brow was written the withering word "despair." I lifted my voice in