Echoes of Life Or, Beautiful Gems of Poetry and Song: A Choice Collection of ...

Rory O'More; or, Good Omens.

UNG Rory O'Moore courted Kathleen Bawn;

YOUNG

was bold as the hawk, and she soft as the
dawn;

He wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to please,
And he thought the best way to do that was to tease.

"Now, Rory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen would cry. Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye; [about; "With your tricks, I don't know, in throth, what I'm Faith you've teased till I've put on my cloak inside out."

"Och! jewel," says Rory, "that same is the way
You've thrated my heart for this many a day;
And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure.
For 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More.

"Indeed then," says Kathleen, "don't think of the like,
For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike;
The ground that I walk on he loves I'll be bound”—
"Faith!" says Rory, "I'd rather love you than the
ground."

"Now, Rory, I'll cry if you don't let me go; Sure I dream ev'ry night that I'm hating you so!' "Och! says Rory, "that same I'm delighted to hear, For dhrames always go by conthraries, my dear.

So I think, after that, I may talk to the praste."

Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck,
So soft and so white, without freckle or speck;
And he looked in her eyes, that were beaming with
light,

And he kissed her sweet lips- don't you think he was right?

"Now, Rory, lave off, sir-you'll hug me no more,— That's eight times to-day you have kissed me before." "Then here goes another," says he "to make sure, For there's luck in odd numbers," says Rory O'More. -Samuel Lover.

The Epithalamion.

AKE now, my love, awake; for it is time; The rosy morn long since left Tithon's bed, All ready to her silver coach to climb;

And Phoebus 'gins to show his glorious head.
Hark! now the cheerful birds do chant their lays,
And carol of Love's praise.

The merry lark her matins sings aloft;
The thrush replies; the mavis descant plays;
The ouzel shrills; the ruddock warbles soft;
So goodly all agree with sweet consent,
To this day's merriment.

Ah! my dear love, why do you sleep thus long,
When meeter were that thou should now awake,
T' await the coming of your joyous mate,
And hearken to the birds' love-learned song,
The dewy leaves among!

For they of joy and pleasance to you sing,

That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring.

My love is now awake out of her dreams,

And her fair eyes like stars that dimmed were

With darksome cloud, now show their goodly beams,

More bright than Hesperus his head doth rear.
Come now, ye damsels, daughters of delight,
Help quickly her to dight;

But first come, ye fair hours, which were begot,

In Jove's sweet paradise, of Day and Night;
Which do the seasons of the year allot,
And all that ever in this world is fair,

Do make and still repair;

And ye three handmaids of the Cyprian Queen
The which do still adorn her beautie's pride,

Help to adorn my beautifulest bride:

And, as ye her array, still throw between

Some graces to be seen;

And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing,

The whiles the woods shall answer, and your echo ring.

Now is my love all ready forth to come
Let all the virgins therefore well await.
And ye, fresh boys, that tend upon her groom,
Prepare yourselves, for he is coming straight.
Set all your things in seemly good array,
Fit for so joyful day,—

The joyful'st day that ever sun did see
Fair Sun! show forth thy favorable ray,
And let thy lifeful heat not fervent be,
For fear of burning her sunshiny face,

Her beauty to u.sgrace.

O fairest Phoebus! father of the Muse!
If ever I did honor thee aright,

Or sing the thing that might thy mind delight
Do not thy servant's simple boon refuse,
But let this day, let this one day be mine

Let all the rest be thine.

Then I thy sovereign praises loud will sing,
That all the woods shall answer, and their echo

ring.

Lo! where she comes along with portly pace,
Like Phoebe, from her chamber of the east,
Arising forth to run her mighty race,
Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best.
So well it her beseems, that ye would ween
Some angel she had been.

Her long, loose yellow locks, like golden wire,
Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers atween,
Do like a golden mantle her attire ;

And, being crowned with a garland green,
Seem like some maiden queen.

Her modest eyes, abashed to behold
So many gazers as on her do stare,
Upon the lowly ground affixed are ;
Nor dare lift up her countenance too bold,
But blush to hear her praises sung so loud,
So far from being proud.

Natheless do ye still loud her praises sing
That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.

Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did ye see

So fair a creature in your town before?

So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she,
Adorned with beauty's grace, and virtue's store?
Her goodly eyes like sapphires shining bright,
Her forehead ivory white,

Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath ruddied,
Her lips like cherries charming men to bite,
Her breast like to a bowl of cream uncrudded.

Much more then would ye wonder at that sight,
And stand astonished like to those which red
Medusa's mazeful head.

There dwells sweet Love, and constant Chastity,
Unspotted Faith, and comely Womanhood
Regard of Honor, and mild Modesty!

There Virtue reigns as queen on royal throne,
And giveth laws alone,

The which the base affections do obey,
And yield their services unto her will;
No thought of things uncomely ever may
Thereto approach to tempt her mind to ill.
Had ye once seen these her celestial treasures,
And unrevealed pleasures,

Then would ye wonder and her praises sing,

That all the woods should answer, and your echo
ring.

Open the temple gates unto my love,
Open them wide that she may enter in,
And all the posts adorn as doth behove,
And all the pillars deck with garlands trim
For to receive this saint with honor due,
That cometh into you.

With trembling steps, and humble reverence
She cometh in before the Almighty's view:
Of her, ye virgins, learn obedience,
When so ye come into those holy places,
To humble your proud faces :

Bring her up to the high altar, that she may

MEN

The sacred ceremonies there partake,
The which do endless matrimony make :
And let the roaring organs loudly play
The praises of the Lord in lively notes:
The whiles, with hollow throats,

The choristers the joyous anthem sing,
That all the woods may answer, and their echo
ring.

Behold, while she before the altar stands,
Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks,
And blesseth her with his two happy hands
How the red roses flush up in her cheeks,
And the pure snow with goodly vermeil stain.
Like crimson dyed in grain ;

That even the angels, which continually
About the sacred altar do remain,
Forget their service and about her fly,

Oft peeping in her face that seems more fair
The more they on it stare.

But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground,
Are governed with goodly modesty,

That suffers not a look to glance awry,

Which may let in a little thought unsound.
Why blush you, love, to give to me your hand
The pledge of all our band?

Sing, ye sweet angels, Alleluia sing,

That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.

Wedded Life.

-Edmund Spenser.

EN and women and especially young people, do not know that it takes years to marry completely two hearts, even of the most loving and well assorted; but nature allows no sudden change. We ascend very gradually from the cradie to the summit of life. Marriage is gradual-a fraction of us at a time. A happy wedlock is a long falling in love. I know young persons think that love belongs only to the brown hair, and plump, round, crimson cheeks. So it does for its beginning. But the golden marriage is a part of love which the bridal day knows nothing of. Youth is the tassel and silken flower of love; age is the full corn, ripe and solid in the ear. Beautiful is the morning of love, with its prophetic crimson, violet, purple, and gold, with its hopes of days that are to come. Beautiful also is the evening of love with its glad remembrances and its rainbow side turned toward heaven as well as earth. Young people marry their opposites in temper and general character, and such a marriage is commonly a good match. They do it instinctively. The young man does not say, "My black eyes require to be wed with blue, and my over-vehemence requires to be a little modified with somewhat of dullness and reserve." When those opposites come together to be wed, they do not know it; each thinks the other just like itself.

Old people never marry their opposites; they marry their similars, and from calculation. Each of these two arrangements is very proper. In their journey, these two young opposites will fall out by the way a great many times, and both get out of the road; but each will charm the other back again, and by and by they will be agreed as to the place they will go to and the road they will go by, and become reconciled. The man will be nobler and larger for being associated with so much humanity unlike himself, and she will be a nobler woman for having manhood beside her that seeks to correct her deficiencies and supply her with what she lacks, if the diversity be not too great, and there be real piety and love in their hearts to begin with. The old bridegroom, having a much shorter journey to make, must associate himself with one like himself. A perfect and complete marriage is perhaps as rare as perfect personal beauty. Such large and sweet fruit is a complete marriage that it needs a very long summer to ripen in, and then a long winter to mellow it. But a happy marriage of love and judgment, between a noble man and woman, is one of the things so very handsome, that if the sun were, as the Greek poets fabled, a god, he might stop the world in order to feast his eyes on such a spectacle.

THE

The Day Returns, My Bosom Burns.

'HE day returns, my bosom burns, The blissful day we twa did meet ; Though winter wild in tempest toiled,

Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet
Than a' the pride that loads the tide,
And crosses o'er the sultry line,—
Than kingly robes and crowns and globes,
Heaven gave me more; it made thee mine.

While day and night can bring delight,

Or nature aught of pleasure give,—
While joys above my mind can move,
For thee and thee alone I live;
When that grim foe of life below

Comes in between to make us part,
The iron hand that breaks our band,
It breaks my bliss,-it breaks my heart.
-Robert Burns.

A Wife's Appeal to Her Husband.

OU took me, Henry, when a girl, into your home

γου

You and heart,

To bear in all your after-fate a fond and faithful part;
And tell me, have I ever tried that duty to forego,

Or pined there was not joy for me when you were
sunk in woe?

No, I would rather share your grief than other people's glee;

For though you're nothing to the world, you're all the
world to me.

You make a palace of my shed, this rough-hewn bench
a throne;
[tone.
There's sunlight for me in your smile, and music in your

I look upon you when you sleep-my eyes with tears grow dim:

I cry, "Oh! Parent of the poor look down from heaven on him!

Behold him toil from day to day exhausting strength and soul;

Look down in mercy on him, Lord, for Thou canst make him whole!"

And when at last relieving sleep has on my eye-lids
smiled,

How oft are they forbid to close in slumber by my child!
I take the little murmurer that spoils my span of rest,
And feel it is a part of thee I hold upon my breast.

There's only one return I crave-I may not need it long

And it may soothe thee when I'm where the wretched
feel no wrong.

I ask not for a kinder tone, for thou wert ever kind;
I ask not for less frugal fare-my fare I do not mind.
I ask not for more gay attire-if such as I have got
Suffice to make me fair to thee, for more I murmur not;
But I would ask some share of hours that you in toil
bestow;

Of knowledge, that you prize so much, may I not some-
thing know?

Subtract from meetings among men each eve an hour
for me;

Make me companion for your soul as I may surely be;
If you will read, I ll sit and work; then think, when
you're away,
[stay.
Less tedious I shall find the time, dear Henry, of your

A meet companion soon I'll be for e'en your studious
hours,
[flowers;
And teacher of those little ones you call your cottage
And if we be not rich and great, we may be wise and
kind,
[your mind.
And as my heart can warm your heart, so may my mind

The True Wife.

OFTENTIMES I have seen a tall ship glide by against the tide as if drawn by some in

visible bowline, with a hundred strong arms pulling it. Her sails unfilled, her streamers were drooping, she had neither side wheel nor stern wheel; still she moved on stately, in serene triumph, as with her own life. But I knew that on the other side of the ship, hidden beneath the great bulk that swam so majestically, there was a little toilsome steam tug, with a heart of fire and arms of iron, that was tugging it bravely on, and I knew that if the little steam tug untwined her arm and left the ship it would wallow and roll about and drift hither and thither, and go off with the refluent tide, no man knows whither. And so I have known more than one genius, high decked, full freighted, idle-sailed, gay-pennoned, but that for the bare toiling arms, and brave, warm-beating heart of the faithful little wife that nestles close to him, so that no wind or wave could part them, would have gone down with the stream and have been heard of no more.

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