Two Lovers

O budding time!

O love's blest prime!

Two wedded from the portal stept:
The bells made happy carolings,
The air was soft as fanning wings,
White petals on the pathway slept.
O pure-eyed bride!

O tender pride!

Two faces o'er a cradle bent:

Two hands above the head were locked:

These pressed each other while they rocked, Those watched a life that love had sent.

O solemn hour!

O hidden power!

Two parents by the evening fire:
The red light fell about their knees
On heads that rose by slow degrees
Like buds upon the lily spire.
O patient life!

O tender strife!

The two still sat together there,

The red light shone about their knees;
But all the heads by slow degrees

Had gone and left that lonely pair.
O voyage fast!

O vanished past!

The red light shone upon the floor

And made the space between them wide;
They drew their chairs up side by side,

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Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Once more!"
O memories!

O past that is!

George Eliot [1819-1880]

THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE

"SOMEWHERE," he mused, "its dear enchantments wait,

That land, so heavenly sweet;

Yet all the paths we follow, soon or late,

End in the desert's heat.

"And still it lures us to the eager quest,

And calls us day by day"

"But I," she said, her babe upon her breast,

"But I have found the way."

"Some time," he sighed, "when youth and joy are spent,

Our feet the gates may win”—

"But I," she smiled, with eyes of deep content,

"But I have entered in."

Emily Huntington Miller [1833-1913]

MY AIN WIFE

I WADNA gi'e my ain wife
For ony wife I see;

I wadna gi'e my ain wife
For ony wife I see;

A bonnier yet I've never seen,

A better canna be

I wadna gi'e my ain wife
For ony wife I see!

O couthie is my ingle-cheek,
An' cheerie is my Jean;
I never see her angry look,

Nor hear her word on ane.
She's gude wi' a' the neebors roun'
An' aye gude wi' me-

I wadna gi'e my ain wife
For ony wife I see.

An' O her looks sae kindlie,

They melt my heart outright,

When o'er the baby at her breast

She hangs wi' fond delight;

The Irish Wife

She looks intill its bonnie face,

An' syne looks to me

I wadna gi'e my ain wife

For ony wife I see.

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Alexander Laing [1787-1857]

THE IRISH WIFE

I WOULD not give my Irish wife
For all the dames of the Saxon land;
I would not give my Irish wife
For the Queen of France's hand;
For she to me is dearer

Than castles strong, or lands, or life.
An outlaw-so I'm near her

To love till death my Irish wife.

O what would be this home of mine,
A ruined, hermit-haunted place,
But for the light that nightly shines
Upon its walls from Kathleen's face!
What comfort in a mine of gold,

What pleasure in a royal life,
If the heart within lay dead and cold,
If I could not wed my Irish wife?

I knew the law forbade the banns;
I knew my king abhorred her race;
Who never bent before their clans

Must bow before their ladies' grace.
Take all my forfeited domain,

I cannot wage with kinsmen strife: Take knightly gear and noble name, And I will keep my Irish wife.

My Irish wife has clear blue eyes,

My heaven by day, my stars by night;

And twin-like truth and fondness lies

Within her swelling bosom white.

My Irish wife has golden hair,
Apollo's harp had once such strings,
Apollo's self might pause to hear
Her bird-like carol when she sings.

I would not give my Irish wife

For all the dames of the Saxon land;
I would not give my Irish wife
For the Queen of France's hand;
For she to me is dearer

Than castles strong, or lands, or life:

In death I would be near her,

And rise beside my Irish wife.

Thomas D'Arcy McGee [1825-1868]

MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING

SHE is a winsome wee thing,

She is a handsome wee thing,

She is a bonnie wee thing,

This sweet wee wife o' mine.

I never saw a fairer,

I never lo'ed a dearer,

And niest my heart I'll wear her,

For fear my jewel tine.

She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,

This sweet wee wife o' mine.

The warld's wrack we share o't,

The warsle and the care o't:

Wi' her I'll blithely bear it,

And think my lot divine.

LETTICE

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

I SAID to Lettice, our sister Lettice,

While drooped and glistened her eyelash brown, "Your man's a poor man, a cold and dour man,

There's many a better about our town."

"If Thou Wert by My Side"
She smiled securely-"He loves me purely:
A true heart's safe, both in smile or frown;
And nothing harms me while his love warms me,
Whether the world go up or down."

"He comes of strangers, and they are rangers,
And ill to trust, girl, when out of sight:

A

Fremd folk may blame ye, and e’en defame ye,—
gown oft handled looks seldom white."
She raised serenely her eyelids queenly,-

"My innocence is my whitest gown;

No harsh tongue grieves me while he believes me,
Whether the world go up or down."

"Your man's a frail man, was ne'er a hale man, And sickness knocketh at every door,

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And death comes making bold hearts cower, breaking-' Our Lettice trembled;—but once, no more.

"If death should enter, smite to the center

Our poor home palace, all crumbling down,

He cannot fright us, nor disunite us,

Life bears Love's cross, death brings Love's crown.' Dinah Maria Mulock Craik [1826-1887]

"IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE, MY LOVE"

If thou wert by my side, my love,

How fast would evening fail
In green Bengala's palmy grove,
Listening the nightingale!

If thou, my love, wert by my side,
My babies at my knee,

How gayly would our pinnace glide
O'er Gunga's mimic sea!

I miss thee at the dawning gray,
When, on our deck reclined,
In careless ease my limbs I lay
And woo the cooler wind.