And when I heard you were a mother,
I did not wish the children mine.
My own young flock, in fair progression,
Made up a pleasant Christmas row:
My joy in them was past expression;
But that was thirty years ago.

You grew a matron plump and comely,
You dwelt in fashion's brightest blaze;
My earthly lot was far more homely;
But I too had my festal days.

No merrier eyes have ever glisten'd
Around the hearth-stone's wintry glow,
Than when my youngest child was christen'd;
But that was twenty years ago.

Time pass'd. My eldest girl was married,
And I am now a grandsire gray;
One pet of four years old I've carried
Among the wild-flower'd meads to play.
In our old fields of childish pleasure,
Where now, as then, the cowslips blow,
She fills her basket's ample measure;

And that is not ten years ago.

But though first love's impassion'd blindness
Has pass'd away in colder light,

I still have thought of you with kindness,
And shall do, till our last good-night.

The ever-rolling silent hours

Will bring a time we shall not know, When our young days of gathering flowers Will be an hundred years ago.

594.

595.

I

The Grave of Love

DUG, beneath the cypress shade,
What well might seem an elfin's grave;
And every pledge in earth I laid,
That erst thy false affection gave.

I press'd them down the sod beneath;
I placed one mossy stone above;
And twined the rose's fading wreath
Around the sepulchre of love.

Frail as thy love, the flowers were dead
Ere yet the evening sun was set:
But years shall see the cypress spread,
Immutable as my regret.

Three Men of Gotham
SEAMEN three! What men be ye?

Gotham's three wise men we be.

Whither in your bowl so free?

To rake the moon from out the sea.

The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine.

And our ballast is old wine.

And your ballast is old wine.

Who art thou, so fast adrift?
I am he they call Old Care.
Here on board we will thee lift.
No: I may not enter there.
Wherefore so? 'Tis Jove's decree,
In a bowl Care may not be.-
In a bowl Care may not be.

$96.

Fear ye not the waves that roll?
No in charmèd bowl we swim.

What the charm that floats the bowl?
Water may not pass the brim.

The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine.
And our ballast is old wine.—
And your ballast is old wine.

CAROLINE SOUTHEY

To Death

1787-1854

CON

'OME not in terrors clad, to claim
An unresisting prey:

Come like an evening shadow, Death!

So stealthily, so silently!

And shut mine eyes, and steal my breath;
Then willingly, O willingly,

With thee I'll go away!

What need to clutch with iron grasp

What gentlest touch may take?

What need with aspect dark to scare,

So awfully, so terribly,

The weary soul would hardly care,
Call'd quietly, call'd tenderly,

From thy dread power to break ?

'Tis not as when thou markest out
The young, the blest, the gay,
The loved, the loving-they who dream
So happily, so hopefully;

Then harsh thy kindest call may seem,

And shrinkingly, reluctantly,

The summon'd may obey.

But I have drunk enough of life—
The cup assign'd to me

Dash'd with a little sweet at best,
So scantily, so scantily-

To know full well that all the rest
More bitterly, more bitterly,
Drugg'd to the last will be.

And I may live to pain some heart
That kindly cares for me:

To pain, but not to bless. O Death!
Come quietly-come lovingly-

And shut mine eyes, and steal my
Then willingly, O willingly,

I'll go away with thee!

breath;

GEORGE GORDON BYRON, LORD BYRON

597. When we Two parted

HEN we two parted

WHEN

In silence and tears,

Half broken-hearted

To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow-
It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now.

1788-1824

Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met-
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee

After long years,
How should I greet thee?

With silence and tears.

598.

ΤΗ

For Music

HERE be none of Beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee;

And like music on the waters

Is thy sweet voice to me:

When, as if its sound were causing
The charmed ocean's pausing,

The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lull'd winds seem dreaming: