Part 28
And still the pines of Ramoth wood Are moaning like the sea, - The moaning of the sea of change Between myself and thee!
John Greenleaf Whittier [1807-1892]
A FAREWELL
With all my will, but much against my heart, We two now part. My Very Dear, Our solace is, the sad road lies so clear. It needs no art, With faint, averted feet And many a tear, In our opposed paths to persevere. Go thou to East, I West. We will not say There's any hope, it is so far away. But, O, my Best, When the one darling of our widowhead, The nursling Grief Is dead, And no dews blur our eyes To see the peach-bloom come in evening skies, Perchance we may, Where now this night is day, And even through faith of still averted feet, Making full circle of our banishment, Amazed meet; The bitter journey to the bourne so sweet Seasoning the termless feast of our content With tears of recognition never dry.
Coventry Patmore [1823-1896]
DEPARTURE
It was not like your great and gracious ways! Do you, that have naught other to lament, Never, my Love, repent Of how, that July afternoon, You went, With sudden, unintelligible phrase, And frightened eye, Upon your journey of so many days Without a single kiss, or a good-bye? I knew, indeed, that you were parting soon; And so we sate, within the low sun's rays, You whispering to me, for your voice was weak, Your harrowing praise. Well, it was well To hear you such things speak, And I could tell What made your eyes a glowing gloom of love, As a warm South-wind sombers a March grove.
And it was like your great and gracious ways To turn your talk on daily things, my Dear, Lifting the luminous, pathetic lash To let the laughter flash, Whilst I drew near, Because you spoke so low that I could scarcely hear. But all at once to leave me at the last, More at the wonder than the loss aghast, With huddled, unintelligible phrase, And frightened eye, And go your journey of all days With not one kiss, or a good-bye, And the only loveless look the look with which you passed: 'Twas all unlike your great and gracious ways.
Coventry Patmore [1823-1896]
A SONG OF PARTING
My dear, the time has come to say Farewell to London town, Farewell to each familiar street, The room where we looked down Upon the people going by, The river flowing fast: The innumerable shine of lamps, The bridges and - our past.
Our past of London days and nights, When every night we dreamed Of Love and Art and Happiness, And every day it seemed Ah! little room, you held my life, In you I found my all; A white hand on the mantelpiece, A shadow on the wall.
My dear, what dinners we have had, What cigarettes and wine In faded corners of Soho, Your fingers touching mine! And now the time has come to say Farewell to London town; The prologue of our play is done, So ring the curtain down.
There lies a crowded life ahead In field and sleepy lane, A fairer picture than we saw Framed in our window-pane. There'll be the stars on summer nights, The white moon through the trees, Moths, and the song of nightingales To float along the breeze.
And in the morning we shall see The swallows in the sun, And hear the cuckoo on the hill Welcome a day begun. And life will open with the rose For me, sweet, and for you, And on our life and on the rose How soft the falling dew!
So let us take this tranquil path, But drop a parting tear For town, whose greatest gift to us Was to be lovers here.
H. C. Compton Mackenzie [1833-
SONG From "The Earthly Paradise"
Fair is the night, and fair the day, Now April is forgot of May, Now into June May falls away: Fair day! fair night! O give me back The tide that all fair things did lack Except my Love, except my Sweet!
Blow back, O wind! thou art not kind, Though thou art sweet: thou hast no mind Her hair about my Sweet to bind. O flowery sward! though thou art bright, I praise thee not for thy delight, - Thou hast not kissed her silver feet.
Thou know'st her not, O rustling tree! What dost thou then to shadow me, Whose shade her breast did never see? O flowers! in vain ye bow adown: Ye have not felt her odorous gown Brush past your heads my lips to meet.
Flow on, great river! thou mayst deem That far away, a summer stream, Thou saw'st her limbs amidst the gleam, And kissed her foot, and kissed her knee: Yet get thee swift unto the sea! With naught of true thou wilt me greet.
And Thou that men call by my name! O helpless One! hast thou no shame That thou must even look the same As while agone, as while agone When Thou and She were left alone, And hands and lips and tears did meet?
Grow weak and pine, lie down to die, O body! in thy misery, Because short time and sweet goes by. O foolish heart! how weak thou art: Break, break, because thou needs must part From thine own Love, from thine own Sweet!
William Morris [1834-1896]
AT PARTING
For a day and a night Love sang to us, played with us, Folded us round from the dark and the light; And our hearts were fulfilled of the music he made with us, Made with our hearts and our lips while he stayed with us, Stayed in mid passage his pinions from flight For a day and a night.
From his foes that kept watch with his wings had he hidden us, Covered us close from the eyes that would smite, From the feet that had tracked and the tongues that had chidden us Sheltering in shade of the myrtles forbidden us Spirit and flesh growing one with delight For a day and a night.
But his wings will not rest and his feet will not stay for us: Morning is here in the joy of its might; With his breath has he sweetened a night and a day for us: Now let him pass, and the myrtles make way for us; Love can but last in us here at his height For a day and a night.
Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909]
"IF SHE BUT KNEW"
If she but knew that I am weeping Still for her sake, That love and sorrow grow with keeping Till they must break, My heart that breaking will adore her, Be hers and die; If she might hear me once implore her, Would she not sigh?
If she but knew that it would save me Her voice to hear, Saying she pitied me, forgave me, Must she forbear? If she were told that I was dying, Would she be dumb? Could she content herself with sighing? Would she not come?
Arthur O'Shaughnessy [1844-1881]
KATHLEEN MAVOURNEEN
Kathleen Mavourneen! the gray dawn is breaking, The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill; The lark from her light wing the bright dew is shaking, - Kathleen Mavourneen! what, slumbering still? Oh, hast thou forgotten how soon we must sever? Oh! hast thou forgotten this day we must part? It may be for years, and it may be forever! Oh, why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart? Oh! why art thou silent, Kathleen Mavourneen?
Kathleen Mavourneen, awake from thy slumbers! The blue mountains glow in the sun's golden light; Ah, where is the spell that once hung on my numbers? Arise in thy beauty, thou star of my night! Mavourneen, Mavourneen, my sad tears are falling, To think that from Erin and thee I must part! It may be for years, and it may be forever! Then why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart? Then why art thou silent, Kathleen Mavourneen?
Louisa Macartney Crawford [1790-1858]
ROBIN ADAIR
What's this dull town to me? Robin's not near, - He whom I wished to see, Wished for to hear; Where's all the joy and mirth Made life a heaven on earth? O, they're all fled with thee, Robin Adair!
What made the assembly shine? Robin Adair: What made the ball so fine? Robin was there: What, when the play was o'er, What made my heart so sore? O, it was parting with Robin Adair!
But now thou art far from me, Robin Adair; But now I never see Robin Adair; Yet him I loved so well Still in my heart shall dwell; O, I can ne'er forget Robin Adair!
Welcome on shore again, Robin Adair! Welcome once more again, Robin Adair! I feel thy trembling hand; Tears in thy eyelids stand, To greet thy native land, Robin Adair!
Long I ne'er saw thee, love, Robin Adair; Still I prayed for thee, love, Robin Adair; When thou wert far at sea, Many made love to me, But still I thought on thee, Robin Adair!
Come to my heart again, Robin Adair; Never to part again, Robin Adair; And if thou still art true, I will be constant too, And will wed none but you, Robin Adair!
Caroline Keppel [1735- ? ]
"IF YOU WERE HERE" A Song In Winter
O love, if you were here This dreary, weary day, - If your lips, warm and dear, Found some sweet word to say, - Then hardly would seem drear These skies of wintry gray.
But you are far away, - How far from me, my dear! What cheer can warm the day? My heart is chill with fear, Pierced through with swift dismay; A thought has turned Life sere:
If you, from far away, Should come not back, my dear; If I no more might lay My hand on yours, nor hear That voice, now sad, now gay, Caress my listening ear;
If you, from far away, Should come no more, my dear, - Then with what dire dismay Year joined to hostile year Would frown, if I should stay Where memories mock and jeer!
But I would come away To dwell with you, my dear; Through unknown worlds to stray, - Or sleep; nor hope, nor fear, Nor dream beneath the clay Of all our days that were.
Philip Bourke Marston [1850-1887]
"COME TO ME, DEAREST"
Come to me, dearest, I'm lonely without thee; Daytime and night-time, I'm thinking about thee; Night-time and daytime in dreams I behold thee; Unwelcome the waking which ceases to fold thee. Come to me, darling, my sorrows to lighten, Come in thy beauty to bless and to brighten; Come in thy womanhood, meekly and lowly, Come in thy lovingness, queenly and holy.
Swallows will flit round the desolate ruin, Telling of spring and its joyous renewing; And thoughts of thy love and its manifold treasure, Are circling my heart with a promise of pleasure. O Spring of my spirit, O May of my bosom, Shine out on my soul, till it bourgeon and blossom; The waste of my life has a rose-root within it, And thy fondness alone to the sunshine can win it.
Figure that moves like a song through the even; Features lit up by a reflex of heaven; Eyes like the skies of poor Erin, our mother, Where shadow and sunshine are chasing each other; Smiles coming seldom, but childlike and simple, Planting in each rosy cheek a sweet dimple; - O, thanks to the Saviour, that even thy seeming Is left to the exile to brighten his dreaming.
You have been glad when you knew I was gladdened; Dear, are you sad now to hear I am saddened? Our hearts ever answer in tune and in time, love, As octave to octave, and rhyme unto rhyme, love: I cannot weep but your tears will be flowing, You cannot smile but my cheek will be glowing; I would not die without you at my side, love, You will not linger when I shall have died, love.
Come to me, dear, ere I die of my sorrow, Rise on my gloom like the sun of to-morrow; Strong, swift, and fond are the words which I speak, love, With a song on your lip and a smile on your cheek, love. Come, for my heart in your absence is weary, - Haste, for my spirit is sickened and dreary, - Come to my arms which alone should caress thee, Come to the heart which is throbbing to press thee!
Joseph Brenan [1829-1857]
SONG
'Tis said that absence conquers love! But, oh! believe it not; I've tried, alas! its power to prove, But thou art not forgot. Lady, though fate has bid us part, Yet still thou art as dear, As fixed in this devoted heart, As when I clasped thee here.
I plunge into the busy crowd, And smile to hear thy name; And yet, as if I thought aloud, They know me still the same; And when the wine-cup passes round, I toast some other fair, - But when I ask my heart the sound, Thy name is echoed there.
And when some other name I learn, And try to whisper love, Still will my heart to thee return Like the returning dove. In vain! I never can forget, And would not be forgot; For I must bear the same regret, Whate'er may be my lot.
E'en as the wounded bird will seek Its favorite bower to die, So, lady! I would hear thee speak, And yield my parting sigh. 'Tis said that absence conquers love! But, oh! believe it not; I've tried, alas! its power to prove, But thou art not forgot.
Frederick William Thomas [1811-1864]
## PARTING
Too fair, I may not call thee mine: Too dear, I may not see Those eyes with bridal beacons shine; Yet, Darling, keep for me - Empty and hushed, and safe apart, - One little corner of thy heart.
Thou wilt be happy, dear! and bless Thee: happy mayst thou be. I would not make thy pleasure less; Yet, Darling, keep for me - My life to light, my lot to leaven, - One little corner of thy Heaven.
Good-by, dear heart! I go to dwell A weary way from thee; Our first kiss is our last farewell; Yet, Darling, keep for me - Who wander outside in the night, - One little corner of thy light.
Gerald Massey [1828-1907]
THE PARTING HOUR
Not yet, dear love, not yet: the sun is high; You said last night, "At sunset I will go." Come to the garden, where when blossoms die No word is spoken; it is better so: Ah! bitter word "Farewell."
Hark! how the birds sing sunny songs of spring! Soon they will build, and work will silence them; So we grow less light-hearted as years bring Life's grave responsibilities - and then The bitter word "Farewell."
The violets fret to fragrance 'neath your feet, Heaven's gold sunlight dreams aslant your hair: No flower for me! your mouth is far more sweet. O, let my lips forget, while lingering there, Love's bitter word "Farewell."
Sunset already! have we sat so long? The parting hour, and so much left unsaid! The garden has grown silent - void of song, Our sorrow shakes us with a sudden dread! Ah! bitter word "Farewell."
Olive Custance [1874-
A SONG OF AUTUMN
All through the golden weather Until the autumn fell, Our lives went by together So wildly and so well.
But autumn's wind uncloses The heart of all your flowers; I think, as with the roses, So hath it been with ours.
Like some divided river Your ways and mine will be, To drift apart for ever, For ever till the sea.
And yet for one word spoken, One whisper of regret, The dream had not been broken, And love were with us yet.
Rennell Rodd [1858-
THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME
The dames of France are fond and free, And Flemish lips are willing, And soft the maids of Italy, And Spanish eyes are thrilling; Still, though I bask beneath their smile, Their charms fail to bind me, And my heart falls back to Erin's Isle, To the girl I left behind me.
For she's as fair as Shannon's side, And purer than its water, But she refused to be my bride Though many a year I sought her; Yet, since to France I sailed away, Her letters oft remind me That I promised never to gainsay The girl I left behind me.
She says, "My own dear love, come home, My friends are rich and many, Or else abroad with you I'll roam, A soldier stout as any; If you'll not come, nor let me go, I'll think you have resigned me," - My heart nigh broke when I answered "No," To the girl I left behind me.
For never shall my true love brave A life of war and toiling, And never as a skulking slave I'll tread my native soil on; But, were it free or to be freed, The battle's close would find me To Ireland bound, nor message need From the girl I left behind me.
Unknown
"WHEN WE ARE PARTED"
When we are parted let me lie In some far corner of thy heart, Silent, and from the world apart, Like a forgotten melody: Forgotten of the world beside, Cherished by one, and one alone, For some loved memory of its own; So let me in thy heart abide When we are parted.
When we are parted, keep for me The sacred stillness of the night; That hour, sweet Love, is mine by right; Let others claim the day of thee! The cold world sleeping at our feet, My spirit shall discourse with thine; - When stars upon thy pillow shine, At thy heart's door I stand and beat, Though we are parted.
Hamilton Aide [1826-1906]
REMEMBER OR FORGET
I sat beside the streamlet, I watched the water flow, As we together watched it One little year ago: The soft rain pattered on the leaves, The April grass was wet. Ah! folly to remember; 'Tis wiser to forget.
The nightingales made vocal June's palace paved with gold; I watched the rose you gave me Its warm red heart unfold; But breath of rose and bird's song Were fraught with wild regret. 'Tis madness to remember; 'Twere wisdom to forget.
I stood among the gold corn, Alas! no more, I knew, To gather gleaner's measure Of the love that fell from you. For me, no gracious harvest - Would God we ne'er had met! 'Tis hard, Love, to remember, But 'tis harder to forget.
The streamlet now is frozen, The nightingales are fled, The cornfields are deserted, And every rose is dead. I sit beside my lonely fire, And pray for wisdom yet: For calmness to remember, Or courage to forget.
Hamilton Aide [1826-1906]
NANCY DAWSON
Nancy Dawson, Nancy Dawson, Not so very long ago Some one wronged you from sheer love, dear; Little thinking it would crush, dear, All I cherished in you so. But now, what's the odds, my Nancy? Where's the guinea, there's the fancy. Are you Nancy, that old Nancy? Nancy Dawson.
Nancy Dawson, Nancy Dawson, I forget you, what you were; Till I feel the sad hours creep, dear, O'er my heart; as o'er my cheek, dear, Once of old, that old, old hair: And then, unawares, my Nancy, I remember, and I fancy You are Nancy, that old Nancy; Nancy Dawson.
Herbert P. Horne [1864-
MY LITTLE LOVE
God keep you safe, my little love, All through the night. Rest close in His encircling arms Until the light. My heart is with you as I kneel to pray, "Good night! God keep you in His care alway."
Thick shadows creep like silent ghosts About my bed. I lose myself in tender dreams While overhead The moon comes stealing through the window bars. A silver sickle gleaming 'mid the stars.
For I, though I am far away, Feel safe and strong, To trust you thus, dear love, and yet The night is long. I say with sobbing breath the old fond prayer, "Good night! Sweet dreams! God keep you everywhere!"
Charles B. Hawley [1858-
FOR EVER
Thrice with her lips she touched my lips, Thrice with her hand my hand, And three times thrice looked towards the sea, But never to the land: Then, "Sweet," she said, "no more delay, For Heaven forbids a longer stay."
I, with my passion in my heart, Could find no words to waste; But striving often to depart, I strained her to my breast: Her wet tears washed my weary cheek; I could have died, but could not speak.
The anchor swings, the sheet flies loose And, bending to the breeze, The tall ship, never to return, Flies through the foaming seas: Cheerily ho! the sailors cry; - My sweet love lessening to my eye.
O Love, turn towards the land thy sight! No more peruse the sea; Our God, who severs thus our hearts, Shall surely care for thee: For me let waste-wide ocean swing, I too lie safe beneath His wing.
William Caldwell Roscoe [1823-1859]
AUF WIEDERSEHEN
The little gate was reached at last, Half hid in lilacs down the lane; She pushed it wide, and, as she passed, A wistful look she backward cast, And said, - "Auf wiedersehen!"
With hand on latch, a vision white Lingered reluctant, and again Half doubting if she did aright, Soft as the dews that fell that night, She said, - "Auf wiedersehen!"
The lamp's clear gleam flits up the stair; I linger in delicious pain; Ah, in that chamber, whose rich air To breathe in thought I scarcely dare, Thinks she, - "Auf wiedersehen?" . . .
'Tis thirteen years; once more I press The turf that silences the lane; I hear the rustle of her dress, I smell the lilacs, and - ah, yes, I hear, - "Auf wiedersehen!"
Sweet piece of bashful maiden art! The English words had seemed too fain, But these - they drew us heart to heart, Yet held us tenderly apart; She said, - "Auf wiedersehen!"
James Russell Lowell [1819-1891]
"FOREVER AND A DAY"
I little know or care If the blackbird on the bough Is filling all the air With his soft crescendo now; For she is gone away, And when she went she took The springtime in her look, The peachblow on her cheek, The laughter from the brook, The blue from out the May - And what she calls a week Is forever and a day!
It's little that I mind How the blossoms, pink or white, At every touch of wind Fall a-trembling with delight; For in the leafy lane, Beneath the garden-boughs, And through the silent house One thing alone I seek. Until she come again The May is not the May, And what she calls a week Is forever and a day!
Thomas Bailey Aldrich [1837-1907]
OLD GARDENS
The white rose tree that spent its musk For lovers' sweeter praise, The stately walks we sought at dusk, Have missed thee many days.
Again, with once-familiar feet, I tread the old parterre - But, ah, its bloom is now less sweet Than when thy face was there.
I hear the birds of evening call; I take the wild perfume; I pluck a rose - to let it fall And perish in the gloom.
Arthur Upson [1877-1908]
FERRY HINKSEY
Beyond the ferry water That fast and silent flowed, She turned, she gazed a moment, Then took her onward road
Between the winding willows To a city white with spires; It seemed a path of pilgrims To the home of earth's desires.