And too impatiently stamped with your foot: man. It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep, POR. Brutus is wise, and were he not in health, He would embrace the means to come by it. BRU. Why, so I do :-good Portia, go to bed. POR. Is Brutus sick, and is it physical To walk unbraced, and suck up the humors Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, To dare the vile contagion of the night, And tempt the rheumy and unpurgéd air To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus; You have some sick offence within your mind, Which, by the right and virtue of my place, I ought to know of: And upon my knees I charm you, by my once commended beauty, By all your vows of love, and that great vow Which did incorporate and make us one, That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, Why you are heavy; and what men to-night Have had resort to you, for here have been Some six or seven, who did hide their faces Even from darkness. "O that," she said, "is no reason. You smell a rose through a fence: If two should smell it, what matter? who grumbles, and where's the pretence?" VI. "But I," he replied, "have promised another, when love was free, To love her alone, alone, who alone and afar loves me." VII. "Why, that," she said, "is no reason. Love's always free, I am told. Will you vow to be safe from the headache on Tuesday, and think it will hold?" VIII. "But you," he replied, "have a daughter, a young little child, who was laid In your lap to be pure; so I leave you the angels would make me afraid." IX. "O that," she said, "is no reason. keep out of the way; The angels And Dora, the child, observes nothing, although you should please me and stay." POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. X. At which he rose up in his anger, XX. -as white as the Why, now, you no longer are fatal, but ugly and And immortal as every great soul is that strug hateful, I swear.' XI. "What reason had you, and what right, — I ap peal to your soul from my life, gles, endures, and fulfils. "I determined to prove to yourself that, whate'er you might dream or avow To find me too fair as a woman? Why, sir, I am By illusion, you wanted precisely no more of me pure, and a wife. "You grew, sir, pale to impertinence, once when I showed you a ring. You kissed my fan when I dropped it. No matter! I've broken the thing. than you have now. "You wronged me: but then I considered... there's Walter! And so at the end, I vowed that he should not be mulcted, by me, in the hand of a friend. XXVII. "Have I hurt you indeed? We are quits then. Nay, friend of my Walter, be mine! Come, Dora, my darling, my angel, and help me to ask him to dine." ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE. ["In the Parish of St. Neots, Cornwall, is a well, arched over A WELL there is in the West country, An oak and an elm tree stand beside, A traveller came to the well of St. Keyne; For from cock-crow he had been travelling, He drank of the water so cool and clear, Under the willow-tree. There came a man from the nighboring town And bade the stranger hail. "Now art thou a bachelor, stranger?" quoth he, "For an if thou hast a wife, The happiest draught thou hast drank this day That ever thou didst in thy life. "Or has your good woman, if one you have, For an if she have, I'll venture my life "I have left a good woman who never was here,' The stranger he made reply; "But that my draught should be better for that, I pray you answer me why." "St. Keyne, "quoth the countryman, "many a time Drank of this crystal well, And before the angel summoned her "If the husband of this gifted well "But if the wife should drink of it first, "You drank of the well, I warrant, betimes?" He to the countryman said. But the countryman smiled as the stranger spake, And sheepishly shook his head. "I hastened, as soon as the wedding was done, And left my wife in the porch. But i' faith, she had been wiser than me, ROBERT SOUTHEY MID pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Home! home! sweet, sweet home! An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain! Home home, &c. JOHN HOWARD PAYNE GILLE MACHREE. ENGLISH, "BRIGHTENER OF MY HEART." Gille machree, Sit down by me, We now are joined and ne'er shall sever; This hearth's our own, Our hearts are one, And peace is ours forever! Flashes the lovelight, increasing the glory, Beaming from bright eyes with warmth of the soul, Telling of trust and content the sweet story, King, king, crown me the king: Home is the kingdom, and Love is the king! Richer than miser with perishing treasure, Served with a service no conquest could bring; Happy with fortune that words cannot measure, Light-hearted I on the hearthstone can sing. King, king, crown me the king: Home is the kingdom, and Love is the king. REV. WILLIAM RANKIN DURYEA. Without disease, the healthful life; The household of continuance; The mean diet, no delicate fare; The faithful wife, without debate; Such sleeps as may beguile the night; Contented with thine own estate, Ne wish for death, ne fear his might. LORD SURREY. A SHEPHERD'S LIFE. FROM THIRD PART OF HENRY VI." KING HENRY. O God! methinks, it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, So many days my ewes have been with young; THE FIRESIDE. DEAR Chloe, while the busy crowd, Be called our choice, we'll step aside. From the gay world we 'll oft retire Where love our hours employs; If solid happiness we prize, Our portion is not large, indeed; But then how little do we need, For nature's calls are few; In this the art of living lies, To want no more than may suffice, And make that little do. We'll therefore relish with content To be resigned when ills betide, And pleased with favors given, – Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part, This is that incense of the heart, Whose fragrance smells to heaven. NATHANIEL COTTON |