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Sweet Emma Moreland of yonder town
Met me walking on yonder way, “And have you lost your heart ? " she said ;
“And are you married yet, Edward Gray ?*
Sweet Emma Moreland spoke to me:
Bitterly weeping I turn'd away : “Sweet Emma Moreland, love no more
Can touch the heart of Edward Gray.
“ Ellen Adair she loved me well,
Against her father's and mother's will : To-day I sat for an hour and wept,
By Ellen's grave, on the windy hill.
“Shy she was, and I thought her cold ;
Thought her proud, and fled over the sea ; Fill'd I was with folly and spite,
When Ellen Adair was dying for me.
“ Cruel, cruel the words I said !
Cruelly came they back to-day : • You're too slight and fickle,' I said,
"To trouble the heart of Edward Gray.'
“There I put my face in the grass
Whisper'd ‘Listen to my despair : I repent me of all I did :
Speak a little, Ellen Adair !'
“ Then I took a pencil, and wrote
On the mossy stone, as I lay, * Here lies the body of Ellen Adair;
And here the heart of Edward Gray!'
“Love may come, and love may go,
And fly, like a bird, from tree to tree : But I will love no more, no more,
Till Ellen Adair come back to me.
“ Bitterly wept I over the stone :
Bitterly weeping I turn'd away : There lies the body of Ellen Adair !
And there the heart of Edward Gray !"
WILL WATERPROOF'S LYRICAL MONOLOGUE
MADE AT THE COCK.
O PLUMP head-waiter at The Cock,
To which I most resort,
Go fetch a pint of port :
You set before chance-comers,
On Lusitanian summers.
No vain libation to the Muse,
But may she still be kind,
Her influence on the mind,
Ere they be half-forgotten ;
Till all be ripe and rotten.
I pledge her, and she comes and dips
Her laurel in the wine,
These favour'd lips of mine ;
New lifeblood warm the bosom,
In full and kindly blossom.
I pledge hier silent at the board;
Her gradual fingers steal
Of all I felt and feel.
And phantom hopes assemble ;
Begins to move and tremble.
Thro' many an hour of summer suns
By many pleasant ways,
The current of my days:
The gas-light wavers dimmer ;
My college friendships glimmer.
I grow in worth, and wit, and sense,
Which vexes public men,
For that which all deny them-
And all the world go by them.
Ah yet, tlo' all the world forsake,
Tho' fortune clip my wings,
Half-views of men and things.
There must be stormy weather ;
All parties work together.
Let there be thistles, there are grapes ;
If old things, there are new;
Yet glimpses of the true.
We lack not rhymes and reasons,
We circle with the seasons.