Volume Iii Part 36 (1/2)

MY LOVE.

Not as all other women are Is she that to my soul is dear; Her glorious fancies come from far, Beneath the silver evening star, And yet her heart is ever near.

Great feelings hath she of her own, Which lesser souls may never know; G.o.d giveth them to her alone, And sweet they are as any tone Wherewith the wind may choose to blow.

She is most fair, and thereunto Her life doth rightly harmonize; Feeling or thought that was not true Ne'er made less beautiful the blue Unclouded heaven of her eyes.

She is a woman: one in whom The springtime of her childish years Hath never lost its fresh perfume, Though knowing well that life hath room For many blights and many tears.

I love her with a love as still As a broad river's peaceful might, Which, by high tower and lowly mill, Seems wandering its own wayward will, And yet doth ever flow aright.

And, on its full, deep breast serene, Like quiet isles my duties lie; It flows around them and between, And makes them fresh and fair and green, Sweet homes wherein to live and die.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

NORA'S VOW.

Hear what Highland Nora said,-- ”The Earlie's son I will not wed, Should all the race of nature die, And none be left but he and I.

For all the gold, for all the gear, And all the lands both far and near, That ever valor lost or won, I would not wed the Earlie's son.”

”A maiden's vows,” old Callum spoke, ”Are lightly made, and lightly broke; The heather on the mountain's height Begins to bloom in purple light; The frost wind soon shall sweep away That l.u.s.ter deep from glen and brae; Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone, May blithely wed the Earlie's son.”--

”The swan,” she said, ”the lake's clear breast May barter for the eagle's nest; The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn, Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kilchurn; Our kilted clans, when blood is high, Before their foes may turn and fly; But I, were all these marvels done, Would never wed the Earlie's son.”

Still in the water lily's shade Her wonted nest the wild swan made; Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever, Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river; To shun the clash of foeman's steel, No Highland brogue has turned the heel: But Nora's heart is lost and won, --She's wedded to the Earlie's son!

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

SONG.

Who is Silvia? what is she, That all our swains commend her?

Holy, fair and wise is she; The heaven such grace did lend her That she might admired be.

Is she kind, as she is fair?

For beauty lives with kindness.

Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness; And, being helped, inhabits there.

Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling; She excels each mortal thing Upon the dull earth dwelling; To her let us garlands bring.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

_From ”The Two Gentlemen of Verona.”_