Volume Ii Part 157 (2/2)

Does there within thy dimmest dreams A possible future s.h.i.+ne, Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe, Untouched, unshared by mine?

If so, at any pain or cost, O, tell me before all is lost.

Look deeper still. If thou canst feel, Within thy inmost soul, That thou hast kept a portion back, While I have staked the whole, Let no false pity spare the blow, but in true mercy tell me so.

Is there within thy heart a need That mine cannot fulfil?

One chord that any other hand Could better wake or still?

Speak now--lest at some future day my whole life wither and decay.

Lives there within thy nature hid The demon-spirit change, Shedding a pa.s.sing glory still On all things new and strange?

It may not be thy fault alone,--but s.h.i.+eld my heart against thy own.

Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day And answer to my claim, That Fate, and that to-day's mistake-- Not thou--had been to blame?

Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou wilt surely warn and save me now.

Nay, answer not,--I dare not hear, The words would come too late; Yet I would spare thee all remorse, So, comfort thee, my Fate,-- Whatever on my heart may fall--remember, I would risk it all!

Adelaide Anne Procter [1825-1864]

”DINNA ASK ME”

O, dinna ask me gin I lo'e ye: Troth, I daurna tell!

Dinna ask me gin I lo'e ye,- Ask it o' yoursel'.

O, dinna look sae sair at me, For weel ye ken me true; O, gin ye look sae sair at me, I daurna look at you.

When ye gang to yon braw, braw town, And bonnier la.s.sies see, O, dinna, Jamie, look at them, Lest ye should mind na me.

For I could never bide the la.s.s That ye'd lo'e mair than me; And O, I'm sure my heart wad brak, Gin ye'd prove fause to me!

John Dunlop [1755-1820]

A SONG

Sing me a sweet, low song of night Before the moon is risen, A song that tells of the stars' delight Escaped from day's bright prison, A song that croons with the cricket's voice, That sleeps with the shadowed trees, A song that shall bid my heart rejoice At its tender mysteries!

And then when the song is ended, love, Bend down your head unto me, Whisper the word that was born above Ere the moon had swayed the sea; Ere the oldest star began to s.h.i.+ne, Or the farthest sun to burn,-- The oldest of words, O heart of mine, Yet newest, and sweet to learn.

Hildegarde Hawthorne [18--

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