« AnteriorContinuar »
NEW-YEAR'S EVE.- Tennyson.
If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother
dear, For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year. It is the last New-year that I shall ever see, Then you may lay me low i' the mould and think no
more of me.
To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind
day; Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen
of May; And we danced about the may-pole and in the hazel
copse, Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white
chimney-tops. There's not a flower on all the hills : the frost is on the
pane : I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again : I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on
high : I long to see a flower so before the day I die. The building rook 'ill caw from the windy tall elm
tree, And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea, And the swallow 'ill come back again with summer o'er
But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering
grave. Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of
mine, In the early early morning the summer sun ’ill shine,
Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill, When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is
still. When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning
light You'll never see me more in the long gray fields at night; When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow
cool On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in
the pool. You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn
shade, And you'll come sometimes and see me where I am
lowly laid. I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you
pass, With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant
grass. I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me
now; You'll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere I go; Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be
wild, You should not fret for me, mother, you have another
child. If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting
place ; Tho' you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your
face; Tho' I cannot speak a word, I shall harken what you
say, And be often, often with you when you think I'm far away. Goodnight, goodnight, when I have said goodnight for
evermore, And you see me carried out from the threshold of the
door ; Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing
green: She'll be a better child to you than ever I have been.
She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor :
born. All night I lay awake, but I fall asleep at morn; But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year ; So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother dear.
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
For thou must die.
And thou must die.
And all must die.
Then chiefly lives.
THE DEATH OF RICHARD I.-Mis: M.B. Smeciley.
In the tent-door
Of men whose faces thirsted for his blood,
THAT light we see is burning in my hall.
THE CHURCH OF BROU.-M. Arnold.
X. The Castle. Down the Savoy valleys sounding,
Echoing round this castle old, 'Mid the distant mountain chalets
Hark! what bell for church is toll'd ?
In the bright October morning,
Savoy's Duke had left his bride. From the Castle, past the drawbridge,
Flow'd the hunters' merry tide. Steeds are neighing, gallants glittering,
Gay, her smiling lord to greet; From her mullion'd chamber casement
Smiles the Duchess Marguerite. Fr Vienna by the Danube
Here she came, a bride, in spring.
Hunters gather, bugles ring.
Horses fret, and boar-spears glance :
Westward, on the side of France.
Down the forest ridings lone,
Hark! a shout-a crash-a groan !
On the turf dead lies the boar.
Senseless, weltering in his gore.
In the dull October evening,
Down the leaf-strewn forest road, To the Castle, past the drawbridge,
Came the hunters with their load.