She comes from the past and revisits my room; PISCATOR AND PISCATRIX. LINES WRITTEN TO AN ALBUM PRINT. As on this pictured page I look, I know them both, the boy and girl; A pleasant place for such a pair! Of lazy summer quickens. It is too hot to pace the keep; (Perhaps they've bribed him not to peep): Their lines into the brook they launch; He takes his rapier from his haunch, O heedless pair of sportsmen slack! Your baited snares may capture. O loving pair! as thus I gaze Upon the lover's shoulder; To be brave, handsome, twenty-two; THE ROSE UPON MY BALCONY. THE rose upon my balcony the morning air per.. fuming, Was leafless all the winter time and pining for the spring; You ask me why her breath is sweet, and why her cheek is blooming : It is because the sun is out and birds begin to sing. The nightingale, whose melody is through the greenwood ringing, Was silent when the boughs were bare and winds were blowing keen: And if, Mamma, you ask of me the reason of his singing, It is because the sun is out and all the leaves are green. Thus each performs his part, Mamma: the birds have found their voices, The blowing rose a flush, Mamma, her bonny cheek to dye; And there's sunshine in my heart, Mamma, which wakens and rejoices, And so I sing and blush, Mamma, and that's the reason why. 66 RONSARD TO HIS MISTRESS. Quand vous serez bien vieille, au soir à la chandelle, Assise auprès du feu devisant et filant, Direz, chantant mes vers en vous esmerveillant : SOME winter night, shut snugly in Surrounded by your maidens all. A poet sang of me!" There's not a maiden in your hall, "Our lady's old and feeble now," They'll say; she once was fresh and fair, And yet she spurn'd her lover's vow, And heartless left him to despair : The lover lies in silent earth, No kindly mate the lady cheers: She sits beside a lonely hearth, Ah! dreary thoughts and dreams are those, While yet the poet's bosom glows, AT THE CHURCH GATE. ALTHOUGH I enter not, And near the sacred gate, The Minster bell tolls out And noise and humming : They've hushed the Minster bell: The organ 'gins to swell : She's coming, she's coming! My lady comes at last, Timid, and stepping fast, And hastening hither, With modest eyes downcast : Kneel, undisturb'd, fair Saint! |