THE DROP OF DEW. Because so long divided from the sphere, Restless it rolls, and insecure, Till the warm sun pities its pain, And to the skies exhales it back again. So the soul, that drops that ray, Of the clear fountain of eternal day, Could it within the human flower be seen, Remembering still its former height, Shuns the sweet leaves and blossoms green; And, recollecting its own light, Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express The greater heaven in a heaven less. In how coy a figure wound, Such did the manna's sacred dew distil, 143 White and entire, although congealed and chill; Congealed on earth; but does, dissolving, run Into the glories of the almighty sun. Cupid and the Dial. NE day, young frolic Cupid tried To scatter roses o'er the hours, And on the dial's face to hide The course of time with many flowers. By chance his rosy wreaths had wound Anon. The hours had passed, the time was done. "Alas!" said Love, and dropped his flowers, "I've lost my time in idle play; The sweeter I would make the hours, The quicker they are passed away." Go, lovely Rose. Go, lovely Rose! Waller. Tell her that wastes her time and me. That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That, hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. 146 SUR LA MORT D'UNE JEUNE FILLE. Then die! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee; How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair! (Additional stanza by H. K. White.) Yet, though thou fade, From thy dead leaves let fragrance rise, That Goodness, Time's rude hand defies, Sur la Mort d'une jeune Fille. Malesherbes. Elle était de ce monde, où les plus belles choses Et rose-elle a vécu ce que vivent les roses- A Midsummer Legend. Mary Howitt. AND where have you been, my Many, And where have you been from me?' 'I've been to the top of the Caldon-Low, The Midsummer night to see !' 'And what did you see, my Mary, All up on the Caldon-Low?' 'I saw the blithe sunshine come down, And I saw the merry winds blow.' 'And what did you hear, my Mary, All up on the Caldon-Hill?' 'I heard the drops of the water made, And the green corn ears to fill.' 'Oh, tell me all, my Mary All, all that ever you know; Last night on the Caldon-Low.' |