FAIRY DAYS. BESIDE the old hall-fire-upon my nurse's knee, Of happy fairy days-what tales were told to me! I thought the world was once-all peopled with princesses, The pretty fairy people—would visit me in sleep. I saw them in my dreams—come flying east and west, The babe has grown to be-the fairest of the land, But ever when it seemed-her need was at the sorest, See how he waves his hand-and how his blue eyes flash! "Come forth, thou. Paynim knight!"-he shouts in accents clear. I see them in my dreams-his blade gives stroke on stroke With what a blushing grace—he falls upon his knee I waken from my dreams-but there's ne'er a knight for me; POCAHONTAS. WEARIED arm and broken sword Through the wilderness resounds, As, with twenty bleeding wounds, Sinks the warrior, fighting still. Now they heap the fatal pyre, And the torch of death they light Oh! 'tis hard to die of fire! Who will shield the captive knight? Round the stake with fiendish cry Wheel and dance the savage crowd, Cold the victim's mien, and proud, And his breast is bared to die. Who will shield the fearless heart? See there springs an Indian maid Quick she stands before the knight, "Loose the chain, unbind the ring, I am daughter of the king, And I claim the Indian right!" Dauntlessly aside she flings Lifted axe and thirsty knife; Fondly to his heart she clings, And her bosom guards his life ! In the woods of Powhattan, Still 'tis told by Indian fires, How a daughter of their sires Saved the captive Englishman. FROM POCAHONTAS. Returning from the cruel fight "Why seek, my love, your wounds to hide ? Or deem your English girl afraid To emulate the Indian maid ?" Be mine my husband's grief to cheer. LOVE-SONGS MADE EASY WHAT MAKES MY HEART TO THRILL AND GLOW? THE MAY FAIR LOVE-SONG. WINTER and summer, night and morn, I languish at this table dark; er looks into St. James's Park. I am a Foreign-Office Clerk. My toils, my pleasures, every one, I find are stale, and dull, and slow; I could have seized a sentry's gun My wearied brains out out to blow. What is it makes my blood to run? What makes my heart to beat and glow? My notes of hand are burnt, perhaps? I still am prey of debt and dun; My elder brother's stout and well. What makes my heart to glow and swell? |