Volume Ii Part 84 (2/2)

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, There stands a specter in your hall; The guilt of blood is at your door; You changed a wholesome heart to gall.

You held your course without remorse, To make him trust his modest worth, And, last, you fixed a vacant stare, And slew him with your n.o.ble birth.

Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, From yon blue heavens above us bent, The gardener Adam and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.

Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only n.o.ble to be good.

Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.

I know you, Clara Vere de Vere; You pine among your halls and towers: The languid light of your proud eyes Is wearied of the rolling hours.

In glowing health, with boundless wealth, But sickening of a vague disease, You know so ill to deal with time, You needs must play such pranks as these.

Clara, Clara Vere de Vere, If time be heavy on your hands, Are there no beggars at your gate, Nor any poor about your lands?

O, teach the orphan-boy to read, Or teach the orphan-girl to sew, Pray Heaven for a human heart, And let the foolish yeoman go.

Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]

SHADOWS

They seemed, to those who saw them meet, The casual friends of every day, Her smile was undisturbed and sweet, His courtesy was free and gay.

But yet if one the other's name In some unguarded moment heard, The heart you thought so calm and tame Would struggle like a captured bird:

And letters of mere formal phrase Were blistered with repeated tears,-- And this was not the work of days, But had gone on for years and years!

Alas, that love was not too strong For maiden shame and manly pride!

Alas, that they delayed so long The goal of mutual bliss beside!

Yet what no chance could then reveal, And neither would be first to own, Let fate and courage now conceal, When truth could bring remorse alone.

Richard Monckton Milnes [1809-1885]

SORROWS OF WERTHER

Werther had a love for Charlotte Such as words could never utter; Would you know how first he met her?

She was cutting bread and b.u.t.ter.

Charlotte was a married lady, And a moral man was Werther, And, for all the wealth of Indies, Would do nothing for to hurt her.

So he sighed and pined and ogled, And his pa.s.sion boiled and bubbled, Till he blew his silly brains out, And no more was by it troubled.

Charlotte, having seen his body Borne before her on a shutter, Like a well-conducted person, Went on cutting bread and b.u.t.ter.

William Makepeace Thackeray [1811-1863]

THE AGE OF WISDOM

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