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IF thou dost bid thy friend farewell,

But for one night though that farewell may be,

Press thou his hand in thine.

How canst thou tell how far from thee

Fate or caprice may lead his steps ere that to-morrow comes? Men have been known to lightly turn the corner of a street,

And days have grown to months, and months to lagging years, Ere they have looked in loving eyes again.

Parting, at best, is underlaid

With tears and pain.

Therefore, lest sudden death should come between,

Or time, or distance, clasp with pressure firm

The hand of him who goeth forth;

Unseen, Fate goeth too.

Yes, find thou always time to say some earnest word

Between the idle talk,

Lest with thee henceforth,

Night and day, regret should walk,

COVENTRY PATMORE.

Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,

And shake the green leaves off the tree? O gentle death, when wilt thou come? For of my life I'm weary.

'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,

Nor blawing snaw's inclemency; "T is not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my love's heart grown cauld to me.

When we came in by Glasgow town,

We were a comely sight to see; My love was clad in the black velvet, And I mysell in cramasie.

But had I wist, before I kissed,

That love had been sae ill to win, I'd locked my heart in a case of gold, And pinned it with a silver pin.

Oh, oh, if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse's knee,
And I mysell were dead and gane,

And the green grass growin' over me!

ANONYMOUS.

LADY ANN BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

BALOW, my babe, ly stil and sleipe!
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe;
If thoust be silent, Ise be glad,
Thy maining maks my heart ful sad.
Balow, my boy, thy mither's joy!
Thy father breides me great annoy.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe!
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

When he began to court my luve,
And with his sugred words to muve,
His faynings fals and flattering cheire
To me that time did not appeire :
But now I see, most cruell hee,
Cares neither for my babe nor mee.
Balow, etc.

Ly stil, my darlinge, sleipe awhile,
And when thou wakest sweitly smile:
But smile not, as thy father did,
To cozen maids; nay, God forbid !
But yette I feire, thou wilt gae neire,
Thy fatheris hart and face to beire.
Balow, etc.

I cannae chuse, but ever will
Be luving to thy father stil:
Whaireir he gae, whaireir he ryde,
My luve with him maun stil abyde:

In weil or wae, whaireir he gae,
Mine hart can neir depart him frae.
Balow, etc.

But doe not, doe not, prettie mine,
To faynings fals thine hart incline;
Be loyal to thy luver trew,
And nevir change hir for a new ;
If gude or faire, of hir have care,
For womens banning's wonderous sair.
Balow, etc.

Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane,
Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine;
My babe and I'll together live,
He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve;
My babe and I right saft will ly,
And quite forgeit man's cruelty.
Balow, etc.

Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth
That ever kist a woman's mouth!
I wish all maids be warned by mee,
Nevir to trust man's curtesy ;
For if we doe but chance to bow,
They 'll use us then they care not how.
Balow, my babe, ly stil and sle ́ve !
It grieves me sair to see thee weire.

ANONYMOUS,

MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILAJ A

My heid is like to rend, Willie,
My heart is like to break ;
I'm wearin' aff my feet, Willie,

I'm dyin' for your sake!
O, lay your cheek to mine, Willie,
Your hand on my briest-bane,
O, say ye'll think on me, Willie,
When I am deid and gane!

It 's vain to comfort me, Willie,

Sair grief maun ha'e its will; But let me rest upon your briest To sab and greet my fill. Let me sit on your knee, Willie, Let me shed by your hair, And look into the face, Willie, I never sall see mair!

I'm sittin' on your knee, Willie,
For the last time in my life,
A puir heart-broken thing, Willie,
A mither, yet nae wife.

Ay, press your hand upon my heart,
And press it mair and mair,
Or it will burst the silken twine,
Sae strang is its despair.

O, wae's me for the hour, Willie,
When we thegither met,
O, wae 's me for the time, Willie,
That our first tryst was set!
O, wae's me for the loanin' green
Where we were wont to gae,
And wae's me for the destinie

That gart me luve thee sae!

O, dinna mind my words, Willie,
I downa seek to blame;

But O, it's hard to live, Willie,

And dree a warld's shame!
Het tears are hailin' ower your cheek,
And hailin' ower your chin:
Why weep ye sac for worthlessness,
For sorrow, and for sin?

I'm weary o' this warld, Willie,
And sick wi' a' I sce,

I canna live as I ha'e lived,

Or be as I should be.

But fauld unto your heart, Willie,

The heart that still is thine,

And kiss ance mair the white, white cheek
Ye said was red langsyne.

A stoun' gaes through my heid, Willie,
A sair stoun' through my heart;

O, haud me up and let me kiss

Thy brow ere we twa pairt. Anither, and anither yet!

How fast my life-strings break!

Fareweel fareweel! through yon kirk-yard Step lichtly for my sake!

The lav'rock in the lift, Willie,

That lilts far ower our heid,

Will sing the morn as merrilie

Abune the clay-cauld deid;
And this green turf we 're sittin' on,

Wi' dew-draps shimmerin' sheen,
Will hap the heart that luvit thee
As warld has seldom seen.

But O, remember me, Willie,

On land where'er ye be ;

And O, think on the leal, leal heart,
That ne'er luvit ane but thee!

And O, think on the cauld, cauld mools
That file my yellow hair,

That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin
Ye never sall kiss mair!

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

A WOMAN'S LOVE.

A SENTINEL angel, sitting high in glory, Heard this shrill wail ring out from Purgatory: "Have mercy, mighty angel, hear my story!

"I loved, and, blind with passionate love, I fell.

Love brought me down to death, and death to Hell;

For God is just, and death for sin is well.

"I do not rage against his high decree,
Nor for myself do ask that grace shall be ;
But for my love on earth who mourns for me.

"Great Spirit! Let me see my love again
And comfort him one hour, and I were fain
To pay a thousand years of fire and pain."

Then said the pitying angel, “ Nay, repent
That wild vow! Look, the dial-finger's bent
Down to the last hour of thy punishment!"

But still she wailed, "I pray thee, let me go!
I cannot rise to peace and leave him so.
O, let me soothe him in his bitter woe!"

The brazen gates ground sullenly ajar,
And upward, joyous, like a rising star,
She rose and vanished in the ether far.

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BEREAVEMENT AND
AND DEATH.

RESIGNATION.

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace;

THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, And beautiful with all the soul's expansion

But one dead lamb is there!

There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,

But has one vacant chair!

The air is full of farewells to the dying,
And mournings for the dead;

The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,
Will not be comforted!

Let us be patient! These severe afflictions
Not from the ground arise,

But oftentimes celestial benedictions
Assume this dark disguise.

We see but dimly through the mists and vapors;
Amid these earthly damps

What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers

May be heaven's distant lamps.

Shall we behold her face.

And though, at times, impetuous with emotion
And anguish long suppressed,

The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean,
That cannot be at rest,

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling
We may not wholly stay;

By silence sanctifying, not concealing,
The grief that must have way.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

BURIED TO-DAY.

BURIED to-day.

When the soft green buds are bursting out,
And up on the south-wind comes a shout

There is no Death! What seems so is transition: Of village boys and girls at play

This life of mortal breath

Is but a suburb of the life elysian,
Whose portal we call Death.

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In the mild spring evening gray.

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Another body in churchyard sod,
Another soul on the life in God.
His Christ was buried and lives alway:
Trust Him, and go your way.

DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK.

GRIEF FOR THE DEAD.

O HEARTS that never cease to yearn!
O brimming tears that ne'er are dried!
The dead, though they depart, return
As though they had not died!

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