He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings: Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, Leave thy low-vaulted past ! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! Oliver Wendell Holmes. MY PLAYMATE THE pines were dark on Ramoth hill, Their song was soft and low; The blossoms in the sweet May wind Were falling like the snow. The blossoms drifted at our feet, For, more to me than birds or flowers, My playmate left her home, And took with her the laughing spring, The music and the bloom. She kissed the lips of kith and kin, She left us in the bloom of May : I walk, with noiseless feet, the round Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring She lives where all the golden year Before her come and go. There haply with her jewelled hands She smooths her silken gown, No more the homespun lap wherein I shook the walnuts down. The wild grapes wait us by the brook, And still the May-day flowers make sweet The lilies blossom in the pond, The bird builds in the tree, I wonder if she thinks of them, I see her face, I hear her voice : What cares she that the orioles build That other hands with nuts are filled, O playmate in the golden time! The winds so sweet with birch and fern And there in spring the veeries sing And still the pines of Ramoth wood Are moaning like the sea, The moaning of the sea of change Between myself and thee! John Greenleaf Whittier. YOUNG LOCHINVAR Он, young Lochinvar is come out of the West! Through all the wide Border his steed is the best; And, save his good broadsword, he weapons had none; He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone. He stay'd not for brake and he stopp'd not for stone; He swam the Eske river where ford there was none; But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented; the gallant came late; For a laggard in love and a dastard in war So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall, Among bridesmen and kinsmen and brothers and Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word, 66 Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" "I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied; Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; The bride kiss'd the goblet, the knight took it up, He quaff'd off the wine and he threw down the cup; She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh, With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye: He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar; "Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely her face, And the bride-maidens whispered, ""T were better by far To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar!" |