網頁圖片
PDF
ePub 版
[blocks in formation]

A WIDOW bird sate mourning for her Love
Upon a wintry bough;

The frozen wind crept on above,

The freezing stream below.

There was no leaf upon the forest bare,

No flower upon the ground,

And little motion in the air

Except the mill-wheel's sound.

P. B. Shelley.

DESERTED.

YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fair!
How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae fu' o' care!

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird

That sings upon the bough;

Thou minds me o' the happy days

When my fause Luve was true.

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird
That sings beside thy mate;

For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate.

[blocks in formation]

HOLLOW is the oak beside the sunny waters drooping;
Thither came, when I was young, happy children trooping;
Dream I now, or hear I now-far, their mellow whooping?

Gay below the cowslip bank, see the billow dances;
There I lay, beguiling time—when I liv'd romances;
Dropping pebbles in the wave, fancies into fancies;-

Farther, where the river glides by the wooded cover, Where the merlin singeth low, with the hawk above her, Came a foot and shone a smile-woe is me, the Lover!

Leaflets on the hollow oak still as greenly quiver;
Musical amid the reeds murmurs on the river;
But the footstep and the smile?-woe is me for ever!

Edward Bulwer, Lord Lytton.

[blocks in formation]

IF thou wilt ease thine heart
Of love and all its smart,

Then sleep, dear, sleep;

And not a sorrow

Hang any tear on your eyelashes;

Lie still and deep,

Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes The rim o' the sun to-morrow

In eastern sky.

But wilt thou cure thine heart

Of love and all its smart,

Then die, dear, die;

'Tis deeper, sweeter,

Than on a rose-bank to lie dreaming

With folded eye;

And alone amid the beaming

Of love's stars, thou'lt meet her

In eastern sky.

T. L. Beddoes.

108

A LAMENT.

A LAMENT.

SWIFTER far than summer's flight,
Swifter far than youth's delight,
Swifter far than happy night,

Art thou come and gone:

As the earth when leaves are dead,
As the night when sleep is sped,
As the heart when joy is fled,
I am left lone, alone.

The swallow Summer comes again,
The owlet Night resumes her reign,
But the wild swan Youth is fain

To fly with thee, false as thou:

My heart each day desires the morrow:
Sleep itself is turned to sorrow;
Vainly would my winter borrow
Sunny leaves from any bough.

Lilies for a bridal bed,
Roses for a matron's head,
Violets for a maiden dead,

Pansies let my flowers be:

On the living grave I bear
Scatter them without a tear,
Let no friend, however dear,

Waste one hope, one fear, for me.

P. B. Shelley.

[blocks in formation]
« 上一頁繼續 »