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O to call back the days that are not!
My eyes were blinded, your words were few: Do you know the truth now up in heaven, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true?
I never was worthy of you, Douglas; Not half worthy the like of you: Now all men beside seem to me like shadows-- I love _you_, Douglas, tender and true.
Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas, Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew; As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.
[Decoration]
_A SILLY SONG._
"O heart, my heart!" she said, and heard His mate the blackbird calling, While through the sheen of the garden green May rain was softly falling,-- Aye softly, softly falling.
The b.u.t.tercups across the field Made sunshine rifts of splendour: The round snow-bud of the thorn in the wood Peeped through its leaf.a.ge tender, As the rain came softly falling.
"O heart, my heart!" she said and smiled, "There 's not a tree of the valley, Or a leaf I wis which the rain's soft kiss Freshens in yonder alley, Where the drops keep ever falling,--
"There 's not a foolish flower i' the gra.s.s, Or bird through the woodland calling, So glad again of the coming rain As I of these tears now falling,-- These happy tears down falling."
[Decoration]
[Decoration]
GEORGE DARLEY.
1795-1846.
_MAY DAY._
FROM "SYLVIA": _Act III. Scene ii_.
O may, thou art a merry time, Sing hi! the hawthorn pink and pale!
When hedge-pipes they begin to chime, And summer-flowers to sow the dale.
When la.s.ses and their lovers meet Beneath the early village-thorn, And to the sound of tabor sweet Bid welcome to the Maying-morn!
O May, thou art a merry time, Sing hi! the hawthorn pink and pale!
When hedge-pipes they begin to chime, And summer-flowers to sow the dale.
When grey-beards and their gossips come With crutch in hand our sports to see, And both go tottering, tattling home, Topful of wine as well as glee!
O May, thou art a merry time, Sing hi! the hawthorn pink and pale!
When hedge-pipes they begin to chime, And summer-flowers to sow the dale.
But Youth was aye the time for bliss, So taste it, Shepherds! while ye may: For who can tell that joy like this Will come another holiday?
O May, thou art a merry time, Sing hi! the hawthorn pink and pale!
When hedge-pipes they begin to chime, And summer-flowers to sow the dale.
_I'VE BEEN ROAMING._
FROM "LILIAN OF THE VALE."
I 've been roaming! I 've been roaming!
Where the meadow dew is sweet, And like a queen I 'm coming With its pearls upon my feet.
I 've been roaming! I 've been roaming!
O'er red rose and lily fair, And like a sylph I 'm coming With their blossoms in my hair.
I 've been roaming! I 've been roaming!
Where the honeysuckle creeps, And like a bee I 'm coming With its kisses on my lips.
I 've been roaming! I 've been roaming!
Over hill and over plain, And like a bird I 'm coming To my bower back again!
[Ill.u.s.tration: Full-page Plate]
_SYLVIA'S SONG._
The streams that wind amid the hills And lost in pleasure slowly roam, While their deep joy the valley fills,-- Even these will leave their mountain home; So may it, Love! with others be, But I will never wend from thee.
The leaf forsakes the parent spray, The blossom quits the stem as fast; The rose-enamour'd bird will stray And leave his eglantine at last: So may it, Love! with others be, But I will never wend from thee.
_SERENADE._
FROM "SYLVIA": _Act IV. Scene I_.
Romanzo sings:
Awake thee, my Lady-love!
Wake thee, and rise!
The sun through the bower peeps Into thine eyes!
Behold how the early lark Springs from the corn!
Hark, hark how the flower-bird Winds her wee horn!
The swallow's glad shriek is heard All through the air!
The stock-dove is murmuring Loud as she dare!
Apollo's winged bugleman Cannot contain, But peals his loud trumpet-call Once and again!
