My Little Love

But now, what's the odds, my Nancy?
Where's the guinea, there's the fancy.
Are you Nancy, that old Nancy?
Nancy Dawson.

Nancy Dawson, Nancy Dawson,
I forget you, what you were;

Till I feel the sad hours creep, dear,
O'er my heart; as o'er my cheek, dear,

Once of old, that old, old hair:

And then, unawares, my Nancy,
I remember, and I fancy

You are Nancy, that old Nancy;
Nancy Dawson.

969

My heart is with you as I kneel to pray,

"Good night! God keep you in His care alway."

Thick shadows creep like silent ghosts

About my bed.

I lose myself in tender dreams

While overhead

The moon comes stealing through the window bars.

A silver sickle gleaming 'mid the stars.

For I, though I am far away,

Feel safe and strong,

To trust you thus, dear love, and yet

The night is long.

I say with sobbing breath the old fond prayer,

"Good night! Sweet dreams! God keep you everywhere!"

Charles B. Hawley [1858

FOR EVER

THRICE with her lips she touched my lips,
Thrice with her hand my hand,

And three times thrice looked towards the sea,

But never to the land:

Then, "Sweet," she said, "no more delay,
For Heaven forbids a longer stay."

I, with my passion in my heart,
Could find no words to waste;

But striving often to depart,

I strained her to my breast:
Her wet tears washed my weary cheek;
I could have died, but could not speak.

The anchor swings, the sheet flies loose
And, bending to the breeze,

The tall ship, never to return,
Flies through the foaming seas:
Cheerily ho! the sailors cry;—
My sweet love lessening to my eye.

O Love, turn towards the land thy sight!

No more peruse the sea;

Our God, who severs thus our hearts,
Shall surely care for thee:

For me let waste-wide ocean swing,

I too lie safe beneath His wing.

William Caldwell Roscoe [1823-1859]

AUF WIEDERSEHEN

THE little gate was reached at last,
Half hid in lilacs down the lane;
She pushed it wide, and, as she passed,
A wistful look she backward cast,

And said,-"Auf wiedersehen!"

"Forever and a Day"

With hand on latch, a vision white
Lingered reluctant, and again
Half doubting if she did aright,
Soft as the dews that fell that night,
She said,—“ Auf wiedersehen!”

The lamp's clear gleam flits up the stair;
I linger in delicious pain;

Ah, in that chamber, whose rich air
To breathe in thought I scarcely dare,
Thinks she,-"Auf wiedersehen?"

"Tis thirteen years; once more I press
The turf that silences the lane;

I hear the rustle of her dress,
I smell the lilacs, and-ah, yes,
I hear,-"Auf wiedersehen!"

Sweet piece of bashful maiden art!

The English words had seemed too fain, But these they drew us heart to heart, Yet held us tenderly apart;

She said, "Auf wiedersehen !"

971

James Russell Lowell [1819-1891]

"FOREVER AND A DAY"

I LITTLE know or care

If the blackbird on the bough

Is filling all the air

With his soft crescendo now;

For she is gone away,
And when she went she took
The springtime in her look,
The peachblow on her cheek,
The laughter from the brook,
The blue from out the May-
And what she calls a week
Is forever and a day!

It's little that I mind

How the blossoms, pink or white,

At every touch of wind
Fall a-trembling with delight;
For in the leafy lane,
Beneath the garden-boughs,

And through the silent house
One thing alone I seek.
Until she come again

The May is not the May,

And what she calls a week

Is forever and a day!

Thomas Bailey Aldrich [1837-1907]

OLD GARDENS

THE white rose tree that spent its musk
For lovers' sweeter praise,

The stately walks we sought at dusk,
Have missed thee many days.

Again, with once-familiar feet,
I tread the old parterre-
But, ah, its bloom is now less sweet
Than when thy face was there.

I hear the birds of evening call;
I take the wild perfume;
I pluck a rose-to let it fall

And perish in the gloom.

Arthur Upson (1877-1908]

DONALD

O WHITE, white, light moon, that sailest in the sky,
Look down upon the whirling world, for thou art up so high,
And tell me where my Donald is, who sailed across the sea,
And make a path of silver light to lead him back to me.

We Twain

O white, white, bright moon, thy cheek is coldly fair,

973

A little cloud beside thee seems thy wildly floating hair; And if thou would'st not have me grow all white and cold

like thee,

Go, make a mighty tide to draw my Donald back to me.

O light, white, bright moon, that dost so fondly shine, There is not a lily in the world but hides its face from thine; I too shall go and hide my face close in the dust from thee, Unless with light and tide thou bring my Donald back to me. Henry Abbey [1842

WE TWAIN

Он, earth and Heaven are far apart!

But what if they were one,

And neither you nor I, Sweetheart,
Had anyway misdone?

Then we like singing rivers fleet

That cannot choose but flow,

Among the flowers should meet and greet,
Should meet and mingle so,

Sweetheart,

That would be sweet, I know.

No need to swerve and drift apart,

Or any bliss resign!

Then I should all be yours, Sweetheart,

And

you would all be mine.

But ah, to rush, defiled and brown,

From thaw of smirchèd snow,

To spoil the corn, beat down and drown

The rath, red lilies low,—

Sweetheart,

I do not want you so!

For you and I are far apart,

And never may we meet,

Till you are glad and grand, Sweetheart,

Till I am fair and sweet: