Part 63

MacKellar.

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Is there no way to save thee? minutes fly, And thou art lost! thou! my sole benefactor, The only being who was constant to me Through every change. Yet, make me not a traitor! Let me save thee--but spare my honour!

Byron.

* * * * *

Ah, heedless girl! why thus disclose What ne’er was meant for other ears? Why thus destroy thine own repose, And dig the source of future tears? Oh! thou wilt weep, imprudent maid, While lurking, envious foes will smile, For all the follies thou hast said, Of those who spoke but to beguile.

Byron.

* * * * *

Again, I tell thee, ask not; but by all Thou boldest dear on earth or heaven--by all The souls of thy great fathers, and thy hope To emulate them, and to leave behind Descendants worthy both of them and thee-- By all thou hast of blest in hope or memory-- By all thou hast to fear here or hereafter-- By all the good deeds thou hast done to me, Good I would now repay with greater good, Remain within--trust to thy household gods And to my word for safety, if thou dost As I now counsel--but if not, thou art lost!

Byron.

REED.... Single Blessedness.

But earlier is the rose distilled, Than that which withering on the virgin thorn Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.

Shakspeare.

* * * * *

Love not, love not; the thing you love may change; The rosy lip may cease to smile on you, The kindly beaming eye grow cold and strange, The heart still warmly beat, and not for you.

Mrs. Norton.

* * * * *

Alone! alone! how drear it is always to be alone! In such a depth of wilderness, the only thinking one! The waters in their path rejoice, the trees together sleep-- But I have not one silver voice upon my ear to creep!

Willis.

* * * * *

Do any thing but love; or, if thou lovest, And art a woman, hide thy love from him Whom thou dost worship. Never let him know How dear he is; flit like a bird before him; Lead him from tree to tree, from flower to flower; But be not won; or thou wilt, like that bird, When caught and caged, be left to pine neglected, And perish in forgetfulness.

Miss Landon.

* * * * *

O many a summer’s morning glow Has lent the rose its ray, And many a winter’s drifting snow Has swept its bloom away; But she has kept the faithless pledge To this, her winter hour, And keeps it still, herself alone, And wasted like the flower.

O. W. Holmes.

* * * * *

My heart is with its early dream; It cannot turn away To seek again the joys of earth, And mingle with the gay. The dew-nursed flower that lifts its brow Beneath the shades of night, Must wither when the sunbeam sheds Its too resplendent light. My heart is with its early dream, And vainly love’s soft power Would seek to charm that heart anew, In some unguarded hour. I would not that some gentle one Should hear my frequent sigh; The deer that bears its death-wound, turns In loneliness to die.

Mrs. Embury.