Rory O'More; or, Good Omens. UNG Rory O'Moore courted Kathleen Bawn; YOUNG was bold as the hawk, and she soft as the He wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to please, "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 "Indeed then," says Kathleen, "don't think of the like, "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, 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. WA 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. The merry lark her matins sings aloft; Ah! my dear love, why do you sleep thus long, 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. But first come, ye fair hours, which were begot, In Jove's sweet paradise, of Day and Night; Do make and still repair; And ye three handmaids of the Cyprian Queen 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 The joyful'st day that ever sun did see Her beauty to u.sgrace. O fairest Phoebus! father of the Muse! Or sing the thing that might thy mind delight Let all the rest be thine. Then I thy sovereign praises loud will sing, ring. Lo! where she comes along with portly pace, Her long, loose yellow locks, like golden wire, And, being crowned with a garland green, Her modest eyes, abashed to behold Natheless do ye still loud her praises sing 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, Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath ruddied, Much more then would ye wonder at that sight, There dwells sweet Love, and constant Chastity, There Virtue reigns as queen on royal throne, The which the base affections do obey, Then would ye wonder and her praises sing, That all the woods should answer, and your echo Open the temple gates unto my love, With trembling steps, and humble reverence Bring her up to the high altar, that she may MEN The sacred ceremonies there partake, The choristers the joyous anthem sing, Behold, while she before the altar stands, That even the angels, which continually Oft peeping in her face that seems more fair But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground, That suffers not a look to glance awry, Which may let in a little thought unsound. 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 While day and night can bring delight, Or nature aught of pleasure give,— Comes in between to make us part, 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; Or pined there was not joy for me when you were No, I would rather share your grief than other people's glee; For though you're nothing to the world, you're all the You make a palace of my shed, this rough-hewn bench 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 How oft are they forbid to close in slumber by my child! There's only one return I crave-I may not need it long And it may soothe thee when I'm where the wretched I ask not for a kinder tone, for thou wert ever kind; Of knowledge, that you prize so much, may I not some- Subtract from meetings among men each eve an hour Make me companion for your soul as I may surely be; A meet companion soon I'll be for e'en your studious 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. |