Think of him thy love had blessed! Should her lineaments resemble Those thou never more mayst see, Then thy heart will softly tremble With a pulse yet true to me. All my faults perchance thou knowest, All my madness none can know; All my hopes, where'er thou goest, Whither, yet with thee they go. Every feeling hath been shaken; Pride, which not a world could bow, Bows to thee, by thee forsaken, Even my soul forsakes me now; But 'tis done, - all words are idle, Words from me are vainer still; But the thoughts we cannot bridle Force their way without the will. Fare thee well! thus disunited, Torn from every nearer tie, Seared in heart, and love, and blighted, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST, WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1785. WEE, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie ! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, I'm truly sorry man's dominion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, An' fellow-mortal! I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request: I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, And never miss't! Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! O' foggage green! An' bleak December's winds ensuin, Baith snell an' keen! SANTA FILOMENA. WHENE'ER a noble deed is wrought, The tidal wave of deeper souls And lifts us unawares Honor to those whose words and deeds Thus thought I, as by night I read The trenches cold and damp, The wounded from the battle-plain, The cheerless corridors, Lo! in that house of misery Pass through the glimmering And flit from room to room. And slow, as in a dream of bliss, As if a door in heaven should be On England's annals, through the long That light its rays shall cast The lady with a lamp shall stand Nor even shall be wanting here The palm, the lily, and the spear, The symbols that of yore Saint Filomena bore. LONGFELLOW. THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AGASSIZ. MAY 28, 1857. IT was fifty years ago, In the pleasant month of May, In the beautiful Pays de Vaud, A child in its cradle lay. And Nature, the old nurse, took Come, wander with me," she said And whenever the way seemed long, Or his heart began to fail, She would sing a more wonderful song, Or tell a more marvellous tale. |