Зображення сторінки

On earth unseen, or only found

To warm the turtle's nest. “ For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush, And spurn

the sex,” he said: But while he spoke, a rising blush

His love-lorn guest betray'd. Surprised he sees new beauties rise,

Swift mantling to the view; Like colors o'er the morning skies,

As bright, as transient too.

The bashful look, the rising breast,

Alternate spread alarms;
The lovely stranger stands confest

A maid in all her charms.

“And ah ! forgive a stranger rude,

A wretch forlorn!" she cried ; “ Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude Where Heaven and



“But let a maid thy pity share,

Whom love has taught to stray ; Who seeks for rest, but finds despair

Companion of her way.

My father liv'd beside the Tyne,

A wealthy lord was he;
And all his wealth was mark'd as mino,

He had but only me.
“ To win me from his tender arms,

Unnumbered suitors came;
Who praised me for imputed charms,

And felt or feign'd a flame.
“ Each hour a mercenary crowd

With richest proffers strove : Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,

But never talk'd of love. “In humble, simplest habit clad,

No wealth nor power had he; Wisdom and worth were all he had,

But these were all to me.

“And when, beside me in the dale,

He carol'd lays of love,
His breath lent fragrance to the gale,

And music to the grove.
“ The blossom opening to the day,

The dews of Heav'n refined, Could naught of purity display

To emulate his mind. " The dew, the blossom on the tree,

With charms inconstant shine; Their charms were his, but woe to me!

Their constancy was mine. “For still I tried each fickle art,

Importunate and vain; And while his passion touch'd my heart,

I triumph'd in his pain. “Till quite dejected with my scorn,

He left me to my pride ; And sought a solitude forlorn,

In secret where he died. «« But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,

And well my life shall pay; I'll seek the solitude he sought,

And stretch me where he lay. “And there forlorn, despairing, hid,

I'll lay me down and die; 'Twas so for me that Edwin did,

And so for him will I." “Forbid it, Heav'n!” the Hermit cried,

And clasp'd her to his breast; The wond'ring fair one turn'd to chide,

'Twas Edwin's self that prest. “Turn, Angelina, ever dear,

My charmer, turn to see
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,

Restor'd to love and thee.
« Thus let me hold thee to my heart,

And ev'ry care resign;
And shall we never, never part,

My life, — my all that's mine?

[ocr errors]

“No, never, from this hour to part,

We'll live and love so true;
The sigh that rends thy constant heart

Shall break thy Edwin's too.


Good people all, of every sort,

Give ear unto my song,
And if you find it wondrous short,

It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man,

Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran,

Whene'er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had,

To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad

When he put on his clothes.
And in that town a dog was found,

As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,

And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends;

But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain some private ends,

Went mad and bit the man.

Around from all the neighboring streets,

The wondering neighbors ran,
And swore the dog had lost his wits,

To bite so good a man.
The wound it seem'd both sore and sad
To every

eye ;
And while they swore the dog was mad,

They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light,

That showed the rogues they lied :
The man recovered of the bite,

The dog it was that died.

Good people all, with one accord

Lament for Madame Blaise,
Who never wanted a good word

From those who spoke her praise.

The needy seldom passed her door,

And always found her kind; She freely lent to all the poor

Who left a pledge behind. She strove the neighborhood to please,

With manners wondrous winning ; And never followed wicked ways

Unless when she was sinning.

At church, in silks and satins new,

And hoop of monstrous size, She never slumbered in her pew

But when she shut her eyes.
Her love was sought, I do aver,

By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has followed her -

When she has walked before.

But now, her wealth and finery fled,

Her hangers-on cut short all; The doctors found, when she was dead

Her last disorder mortal.

Let us lament in sorrow sore,

For Kent-street well may say, That had she lived a twelvemonth more

She had not died to-day.


EDMOND Louis HUOT DE and JULES ALFRED HUOT DE GONCOURT, brothers and joint authors of numerous historical works. They were born in France, Edmond at Nancy, May 26, 1822, and Jules in Paris, Dec. 17, 1830; the latter died in Paris, June 20, 1870; Edmond, July 16, 1896. Their friendship was as close as their literary union subsequently became. Both were scholars of no mean attainments, and possessed equally the facile and strenuous talent that made them co-builders of a single renown.

Among the joint productions of the brothers are “En 18—” (1851); “Histoire de la Société Française pendant la Révolution et sous la Directoire" (1854-1855); “La Peinture à l'Exposition Universelle" (1855); “Une Voiture de Masques" (1856), republished in 1876 as “Créatures de ce Temps; » « Portraits Intimes du XVIIIme Siècle" (1856 and 1858); “Histoire de Marie Antoinette" (1858); “ Les Maîtresses de Louis XV.(1860); “Les Hommes de Lettres (1861), republished under the title of “Charles Demailly” (1861); “La Femme au XVIIIme Siècle” (1862); “Renée Mauperin(1864); “ Idées et Sensations” (1866); “ Manette Salomon " (1867); “L'Art de XVII[me Siècle" (1874). Among the works of E. Goncourt are “ L'Euvre de Prudhon” (1877) and “Les Frères Zemganno,” a novel (1879). After the death of his brother, Edmond Goncourt published “L'Euvre de Watteau" (1876); “La Fille Eliza(1878); “La Maison d'un Artiste" (1881); “Chérie” (1884); “ Madame Saint-Huberti” (1885); “ Mademoiselle Clairon” (1890). Alfred Haserick's translation of “ Armande,” an account by the brothers Goncourt of the adventures of the beautiful actress, was published in 1894.


(From “ Sister Philomène.") The Church loves to surround childhood with pretty and fresh faces. She knows how these little beings, in whom the soul is called to life through the senses, are impressed by the outward appearance of those around them; she therefore strives

VOL. X.-13

« НазадПродовжити »