What cruel answer have I heard? Go boldly forth, my simple lay, II. I WOULD NOT SHRINK. I WOULD not shrink if some dear ghost, No! If the brother loved and lost The nymph for whom these notes are Oh, if I gauge my heart aright, sung. Translation of SIR WILLIAM JONES. Dear would the dead be to my sight: A vision from the other coast Of one on earth I cherished most Would be a measureless delight; I would not shrink. CHARLES D. BEIL. THE GOLDEN RINGLET. HERE is a little golden tress Of soft unbraided hair, The all that's left of loveliness That once was thought so fair; And yet, though time hath dimmed its sheen, Though all beside hath fled, Yes, from this shining ringlet stiil Through all its trembling strings: For eighteen years like sunshine slept MIN But the shadows of eve that encompass the gloom, The abode of the dead and the place of the tomb. Shall we build to Ambition? Oh no! Affrighted, he shrinketh away; For see! they would pin him below In a small narrow cave, and, begirt with cold clay, To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a To Beauty? Ah, no! she forgets A beehive's hum shall soothe my ear; The charms which she wielded before, A willowy brook that turns a mill, The swallow oft beneath my thatch And share my meal, a welcome guest. Around my ivied porch shall spring Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew, And Lucy at her wheel shall sing gown and apron blue. In russet gown a prey. Nor knows the foul worm that he frets The skin which but yesterday fools could adore For the smoothness it held or the tint which it wore. Shall we build to the purple of Pride, The trappings which dizen the proud? Alas! they are all laid aside, And here's neither dress nor adornment allowed But the long winding-sheet and the fringe of the shroud. To Riches? Alas! 'tis in vain : Who hid, in their turn have been hid; The treasures are squandered again, And here in the grave are all metals forbid But the tinsel that shines on the dark coffinlid. To the pleasures which Mirth can afford, The revel, the laugh and the jeer? Ah! here is a plentiful board! But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, And none but the worm is a reveller here. Shall we build to Affection and Love? Ah, no! they have withered and died, Or fled with the spirit above; His only thought how best himself to please. Of richest wines he had an endless store: These are his pride, and oft as lovingly Friends, brothers and sisters are laid side by As they were children he will tell their age; His city house, his mansion by the sea, side, Yet none have saluted, and none have Alternately his jovial hours engage; replied. Unto Sorrow? The dead cannot grieve; Not a sob, not a sigh, meets mine ear Which compassion itself could relieve. Ah! sweetly they slumber, nor hope, love nor fear: "Peace, peace!" is the watchword-the only one here. Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow? Ah, no! for his empire is known, And here there are trophies enow: Beneath, the cold dead, and around, the dark stone, So great his wealth it hourly groweth more. A little luck, a little keen address, If he were poor his friends might love him less. Gray-headed Reginald! he has royal parts Are the signs of a sceptre that none may And in all circles fills an honored seat; disown. HERBERT KNOWLES. ALONE. SO Reginald is still a bachelor, Not young, yet youthful, studious of There was no way to 'scape the dart; his ease, No care could guard the lover's heart. |