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THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.

OME live with me and be my love,

And we will all the pleasures prove That hill and valley, grove and field, And all the craggy mountains yield. There will we sit upon the rocks, And see the shepherds feed their flocks By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. There will I make thee beds of roses, With a thousand fragrant posies; A cap of flowers and a kirtle

Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Slippers lin❜d choicely for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Then live with me and be my love.

CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.

THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD.

F all the world and love were young

And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee, and be thy love.
Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb,
The rest complain of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs;
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.

But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH,

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O, SAW YE THE LASS.

SAW ye the lass wi' the bonnie blue een? Her smile is the sweetest that ever was seen, Her cheek like the rose is, but fresher, I ween; She's the loveliest lassie that trips on the green. The home of my love is below in the valley, Where wild flowers welcome the wandering bee; But the sweetest of flowers in that spot that is seen Is the maid that I love wi' the bonny blue een.

When night overshadows her cot in the glen,
She 'll steal out to meet her loved Donald again;
And when the moon shines on the valley so green,
I'll welcome the lass wi' the bonny blue een.
As the dove that has wandered away from his nest
Returns to the mate his fond heart loves the best,
I'll fly from the world's false and vanishing scene,
To my dear one, the lass wi' the bonny blue een.
RICHARD RYAN.

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WE PARTED IN SILENCE.

E parted in silence, we parted by night,
On the banks of that lonely river;
Where the fragrant limes their boughs unite,
We met and we parted forever!

The night-bird sung and the stars above
Told many a touching story,

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But those lips that echoed the sounds of mine
Are as cold as that lonely river;
And that eye, that beautiful spirit's shrine,
Has shrouded its fires forever.

And now on the midnight sky I look,
And my heart grows full of weeping;
Each star is to me a sealéd book,

Some tale of that loved one keeping.
We parted in silence - we parted in tears,
On the banks of that lonely river;
But the odor and bloom of those by-gone years
Shall hang o'er its waters forever.

JULIA CRAWFORD.

COME TO ME, DEAREST.

ZOME to me, dearest, I'm lonely without thee, Daytime and night-time, I'm thinking about thee;

Night-time and daytime, in dreams I behold thee;

Unwelcome the waking which ceases to fold thee.
Come to me, darling, my sorrows to lighten,
Come in thy beauty to bless and to brighten;
Come in thy womanhood, meekly and lowly,
Come in thy lovingness, queenly and holy.

Swallows will flit round the desolate ruin,
Telling of spring and its joyous renewing;
And thoughts of thy love, and its manifold treasure,
Are circling my heart with a promise of pleasure.
O Spring of my spirit, O May of my bosom,
Shine out on my soul, till it bourgeon and blossom;
The waste of my life has a rose-root within it,
And thy fondness alone to the sunshine can win it.

Figure that moves like a song through the even;
Features lit up by a reflex of heaven;
Eyes like the skies of poor Erin, our mother,
Where shadow and sunshine are chasing each other;

Smiles coming seldom, but childlike and simple,
Planting in each rosy cheek a sweet dimple;-
O, thanks to the Saviour, that even thy seeming
Is left to the exile to brighten his dreaming.
You have been glad when you knew I was glad-
dened;

Dear, are you sad now, to hear I am saddened?
Our hearts ever answer in tune and in time, love,
As octave to octave, and rhyme unto rhyme, love:
I cannot weep but your tears will be flowing,
You cannot smile but my cheek will be glowing;
I would not die without you at my side, love,
You will not linger when I shall have died, love.
Come to me, dear, ere I die of my sorrow,
Rise on my gloom like the sun of to-morrow,
Strong, swift, and fond as the words which I speak,
love,

With a song on your lip and a smile on your cheek, love.

Come, for my heart in your absence is weary,— Haste, for my spirit is sickened and dreary,— Come to the arms which alone should caress thee, Come to the heart that is throbbing to press thee!

JOSEPH BRENNAN.

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THE BLOOM WAS ON THE ALDER AND THE TASSEL ON THE CORN.

HEARD the bob-white whistle in the dewy breath

of morn;

The bloom was on the alder and the tassel on the

corn.

I stood with beating heart beside the babbling
Mac-o-chee,

To see my love come down the gien to keep her tryst
with me.

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