But I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, And sadly sang the Birde as it perched upon a bier; That joyous smile was gone,

And the face was white and wan,

As the downe upon the Swan
Doth appear,

As I laye a-thynkynge-oh! bitter flowed the tear!

As I laye a-thynkynge, the golden sun was sinking,
O merrie sang that Birde as it glittered on her breast
With a thousand glorious dyes,

While, soaring to the skies,

'Mid the stars she seemed to rise,
As to her nest;

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
As I laye a-thynkynge, her meaning was expressed:-
"Follow, follow me away,

It boots not to delay,”

'Twas so she seemed to saye,

"HERE IS REST!"

Richard Harris Barham [1788-1845]

THE HARP OF SORROW

SORROW has a harp of seven strings

And plays on it unceasing all the day;

The first string sings of love that is long dead,
The second sings of lost hopes buried;
The third of happiness forgot and fled.
Of vigil kept in vain the fourth cord sings,
And the fifth string of roses dropped away.
The sixth string calls and is unanswered,
The seventh with your name for ever rings-
I listen for its singing all the day!

Ethel Clifford [18

THE JOURNEY ONWARDS
As slow our ship her foamy track
Against the wind was cleaving,

Her trembling pennant still looked back

Song

To that dear Isle 'twas leaving.
So loth we part from all we love,

From all the links that bind us;
So turn our hearts, as on we rove,
To those we've left behind us!

When, round the bowl, of vanished years
We talk with joyous seeming,

With smiles, that might as well be tears,
So faint, so sad their beaming;
While memory brings us back again
Each early tie that twined us,
Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then
To those we've left behind us!

And when, in other climes, we meet
Some isle, or vale enchanting,
Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet,
And naught but love is wanting;

We think how great had been our bliss
If Heaven had but assigned us
To live and die in scenes like this,
With some we've left behind us!

As travelers oft look back at eve

When eastward darkly going,
To gaze upon that light they leave

Still faint behind them glowing,—
So, when the close of pleasure's day
To gloom hath near consigned us,
We turn to catch one fading ray
Of joy that's left behind us.

SONG

3163

Thomas Moore [1779-1852]

IN LEINSTER

I TRY to knead and spin, but my life is low the while.
Oh, I long to be alone, and walk abroad a mile;
Yet if I walk alone, and think of naught at all,

Why from me that's young should the wild tears fall?

The shower-sodden earth, the earth-colored streams, They breathe on me awake, and moan to me in dreams, And yonder ivy fondling the broke castle-wall,

It pulls upon my heart till the wild tears fall.

The cabin-door looks down a furze-lighted hill,
And far as Leighlin Cross the fields are green and still;
But once I hear the blackbird in Leighlin hedges call,
The foolishness is on me, and the wild tears fall!
Louise Imogen Guiney [1861-

SPIRIT OF SADNESS

SHE loved the Autumn, I the Spring,
Sad all the songs she loved to sing;
And in her face was strangely set
Some great inherited regret.

Some look in all things made her sigh,

Yea! sad to her the morning sky:

"So sad! so sad its beauty seems'

I hear her say it still in dreams.

But when the day grew gray and old,
And rising stars shone strange and cold,
Then only in her face I saw
A mystic glee, a joyous awe.

Spirit of Sadness, in the spheres
Is there an end of mortal tears?
Or is there still in those great eyes
That look of lonely hills and skies?
Richard Le Gallienne [1866-

NO MORE

THIS is the Burden of the Heart,
The Burden that it always bore:
We live to love; we meet to part;

To Each His Own

And part to meet on earth No More:
We clasp each other to the heart,

And part to meet on earth No More.

There is a time for tears to start,

For dews to fall and larks to soar:
The Time for Tears, is when we part
To meet upon the earth No More:
The Time for Tears, is when we part
To meet on this wide earth-No More.

3165

Byron Forceythe Willson [1837-1867]

"TIS BUT A LITTLE FADED FLOWER"

'Tis but a little faded flower,

But oh, how fondly dear!

"Twill bring me back one golden hour,

Through many a weary year.

I may not to the world impart

The secret of its power,

But treasured in my inmost heart,

I keep my faded flower.

Where is the heart that doth not keep,

Within its inmost core,

Some fond remembrance, hidden deep,

Of days that are no more?

Who hath not saved some trifling thing

More prized than jewels rare-

A faded flower, a broken ring,

A tress of golden hair?

Ellen Clementine Howarth [1827-1899]

TO EACH HIS OWN

EACH hath his drug for Sorrow

(Or else the pain would slay!)

For one, it is "To-morrow";

For one, 'tis "Yesterday."

For each, when gyves are fretting,
A different balm must be.
Some find it in forgetting,

And some in memory.

Margaret Root Garvin [18

SONG

RARELY, rarely comest thou,

Spirit of Delight!

Wherefore hast thou left me now

Many a day and night?

Many a weary night and day
'Tis since thou art fled away.

How shall ever one like me
Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free
Thou wilt scoff at pain.
Spirit false! thou hast forgot

All but those who need thee not.

As a lizard with the shade

Of a trembling leaf,

Thou with sorrow art dismayed;

Even the sighs of grief

Reproach thee, that thou art not near,

And reproach thou wilt not hear.

Let me set my mournful ditty

To a merry measure:

Thou wilt never come for pity,

Thou wilt come for pleasure;

Pity then will cut away

Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.