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But then what a flint is he!
Abroad, at Florence, at Rome,
I find whenever she touch'd on me
This brother had laugh'd her down,
And at last, when each came home,
He had darken'd into a frown,
Chid her, and forbid her to speak

To me, her friend of the years before;
And this was what had redden'd her cheek
When I bow'd to her on the moor.


Yet Maud, altho' not blind

To the faults of his heart and mind,
I see she cannot but love him,
And says he is rough but kind,
And wishes me to approve him,
And tells me, when she lay
Sick once, with a fear of worse,

That he left his wine and horses and play,
Sat with her, read to her, night and day,
And tended her like a nurse.


Kind? but the deathbed desire
Spurn'd by this heir of the liar—
Rough but kind? yet I know
He has plotted against me in this,
That he plots against me still.
Kind to Maud? that were not amiss.

Well, rough but kind; why, let it be so:
For shall not Maud have her will?


For, Maud, so tender and true,
As long as my life endures
I feel I shall owe you a debt,
That I never can hope to pay;
And if ever I should forget
That I owe this debt to you
And for your sweet sake to yours:
O then, what then shall I

If ever I should forget,

say ?

May God make me more wretched
Than ever I have been yet!


So now I have sworn to bury
All this dead body of hate,
I feel so free and so clear

By the loss of that dead weight,
That I should grow light-headed, I fear,
Fantastically merry;

But that her brother comes, like a blight my fresh hope, to the Hall to-night.




STRANGE, that I felt so gay,
Strange, that I tried to-day
To beguile her melancholy;
The Sultan, as we name him,-
She did not wish to blame him-
But he vext her and perplext her
With his worldly talk and folly :
Was it gentle to reprove her
For stealing out of view
From a little lazy lover

Who but claims her as his due?

Or for chilling his caresses
By the coldness of her manners,
Nay, the plainness of her dresses?
Now I know her but in two,
Nor can pronounce upon it
If one should ask me whether
The habit, hat, and feather,
Or the frock and gypsy bonnet
Be the neater and completer;
For nothing can be sweeter
Than maiden Maud in either.


But to-morrow, if we live,
Our ponderous squire will give
A grand political dinner
To half the squirelings near;
And Maud will wear her jewels,
And the bird of prey will hover,
And the titmouse hope to win her
With his chirrup at her ear.


A grand political dinner
To the men of many acres,
A gathering of the Tory,
A dinner and then a dance
For the maids and marriage-makers,
And every eye but mine will glance
At Maud in all her glory.


For I am not invited,

But, with the Sultan's pardon,
I am all as well delighted,

For I know her own rose-garden,

And mean to linger in it
Till the dancing will be over;
And then, O then, come out to me

For a minute, but for a minute,
Come out to your own true lover,
That your true lover may see
Your glory also, and render
All homage to his own darling,
Queen Maud in all her splendor.


RIVULET crossing my ground,
And bringing me down from the Hall
This garden-rose that I found,
Forgetful of Maud and me,

And lost in trouble and moving round
Here at the head of a tinkling fall
And trying to pass to the sea;
O Rivulet, born at the Hall,
My Maud has sent it by thee
(If I read her sweet will right)
On a blushing mission to me,
Saying in odor and color, 'Ah, be
Among the roses to-night.'



COME into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,

I am here at the gate alone;

And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the roses blown.


For a breeze of morning moves,

And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves

On a bed of daffodil sky,

To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
To faint in his light, and to die.


All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin, bassoon;

All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd
To the dancers dancing in tune:
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.


I said to the lily, "There is but one
With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone?
She is weary of dance and play."
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
And half to the rising day;

Low on the sand and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.


I said to the rose, "The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine.

young lord-lover, what sighs are those,
For one that will never be thine?

But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose, "For ever and ever, mine."


And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clash'd in the hall;

And long by the garden lake I stood,

For I heard your rivulet fall

From the lake to the meadow and on to the


Our wood, that is dearer than all;

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