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But let me live on land, where rivers run,Where shady trees may screen me from the sun ; Where I may feel, secure, the fragrant air; Where (whate'er toil or wearying pains I bear)

Those eyes, which look away all human ill, May shed on me their still, sweet, constant light; And the little hearts I love may (day and night)

Be found beside me safe and clustering still !


Here's a health to thee, Mary,
Here's a health to thee;

The drinkers are gone,

And I am alone,
To think of home and thee, Mary.

There are some who may shine o'er thee, Mary,
And many as frank and free;

And a few as fair,

But the summer air
Is not more sweet to me, Mary.

I have thought of thy last low sigh, Mary,
And thy dimm'd and gentle eye ;

And I've call’d on thy name
When the night winds came,
And heard my heart reply, Mary.

Be thou but true to me, Mary,
And I'll be true to thee;

And at set of sun,

When my task is done,
Be sure that I'm ever with thee, Mary.


Gone from her cheek is the summer bloom,
And her lip has lost all its faint perfume ;
And the gloss has dropp'd from her golden hair,
And her cheek is pale,—but no longer fair.

And the spirit that sate on her soft blue eye,
Is struck with cold mortality;
And the smile that play'd round her lip has fled,
And every charm has now left the dead.

Like slaves they obey'd her in height of power,
But left her all in her wintry hour;
And the crowds that swore for her love to die,
Shrunk from the tone of her last faint sigh ;-
And this is man's fidelity!

"Tis woman alone, with a purer heart,
Can see all these idols of life depart ;
And love the more, and smile and bless
Man in his uttermost wretchedness.


In glowing youth he stood beside
His native stream, and saw it glide,
Showing each gem beneath its tide,-
Calm as though nought could break its rest,
Reflecting heaven on its breast ;
And seeming, in its flow, to be
Like candour, peace, and piety.

When life began its brilliant dream,
His heart was like his native stream;
The wave-shrined gems could scarcely seem
Less hidden than each wish it knew :
Its life flow'd on as calmly, too;
And heaven shielded it from sin,
To see itself reflected in.

He stood beside that stream again,
When years had fled in strife and pain ;
He look'd for its calm course in vain,-
For storms profaned its peaceful flow,
And clouds o'erhung its crystal brow ;-
And turning then, he sigh'd to deem
His heart still like his native stream.

THE BLOOD HORSE. GAMARRA is a dainty steed, Strong, black, and of a noble breed ; Full of fire, and full of bone, With all his line of fathers known: Fine his nose, his nostrils thin, But blown abroad by the pride within ; His mane is like a river flowing, And his eyes like embers glowing In the darkness of the night, And his pace as swift as light: Look how round his straining throat Grace and shifting beauty float; Sinewy strength is on his reins, And the red blood gallops through his veins; Richer, redder never ran Through the boasting heart of man. He can trace his lineage higher Than the Bourbon dare aspire,Douglas, Guzman, or the Guelph, Or O'Brien's blood itself ! He—who hath no peer—was born Here, upon a red March morn; But his famous fathers, dead, Were Arabs all, and Arab bred : And the last of that great line Seemed as of a race divine! And yet-he was but friend to one Who fed him at the set of sun, By some lone fountain fringed with green : With him, a roving Bedouin, He lived-(none else would he obey Through all the hot Arabian day)And died untamed upon the sands Where Balkh amidst the desert stands !

King Death was a rare old fellow!

He sat where no sun could shine ;
And he lifted his hand so yellow,
And pour'd out his coal-black wine.

Hurrah ! for the coal-black wine !

There came to him many a maiden,

Whose eyes had forgot to shine ; And widows, with grief o’erladen, For a draught of his sleepy wine.

Hurrah ! for the coal-black wine !

The scholar left all his learning,

The poet his fancied woes ;
And the beauty her bloom returning,
Like life to the fading rose.

Hurrah ! for the coal-black wine!

All came to the royal old fellow,

Who laugh'd till his eyes dropp'd brine;
As he gave them his hand so yellow,
And pledged them in death's black wine.

Hurrah ! hurrah!
Hurrah ! for the coal-black wine!


Let the moaning music die,
Let the hope-deceived fly,
Turn’d by strong neglect to pain!
Let the mind desert the brain,
Leaving all to dark decay,
Like a lump of idle clay!

They are gone who loved and died,
The once lover and his bride ;
Therefore we our sorrow weave
Into songs ;-yet wherefore grieve?
Though they sleep an endless sleep,
Why should we despair and weep ?
They are gone together :
They are safe from wind and weather,
Lightning and the drowning rain,
And the hell of earthly pain.
They are dead ;-or if they live,
There is One who can forgive,
Though a thousand errors ran
Through the fond, false heart of man.

Let the moaning music perish!
Wherefore should we strive to cherish
Sorrow, like the desert rain ?
Though we weep, we weep in vain !
They are gone together,

Haply to the summer shores,-
Where the bright and cloudless weather

Shineth, and for ever pours
Music with the flooding light,

And the night doth chase the day,
And the morn doth chase the night,

Like a starry fawn away!

They are gone—where pleasure reigns
Sinless on the golden plains,
Far above the scathing thunder,

Far above the storms and jars
Of earth, and live delighted under

The bright silence of the stars !
Therefore let the music die,-
Thoughtless hope and sorrow fly :
They are happy, happier than
We who, in the mask of man,
Pour our unavailing tears
Over Beauty's number'd years !


Awake!—the starry midnight hour

Hangs charmed, and pauseth in its flight ;
In its own sweetness sleeps the flower,
And the doves lie hushed in deep delight!

Awake! awake!
Look forth, my love, for love's sweet sake!

Awake !-soft dews will soon arise

From daisied mead, and thorny brake ;
Then, sweet, uncloud those eastern eyes,
And like the tender morning break !

Awake! awake!
Dawn forth, my love, for love's sweet sake!

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