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SWEET Emma Moreland of yonder town

Met me walking on yonder way, “ And have


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 !”



O PLUMP head-waiter at The Cock,

To which I most resort,
How goes the time? 'Tis five o'clock.

Go fetch a pint of port :
But let it not be such as that

You set before chance-comers,
But such whose father-grape grew fat

On Lusitanian summers.

No vain libation to the Muse,

But may she still be kind,
And whisper lovely words, and use

Her influence on the mind,
To make me write my randoin rhymes,

Ere they be half-forgotten;
Nor add and alter, many times,
Till all be ripe and rotten.

I pledge her, and she comes and dips

Her laurel in the wine,
And lays it thrice upon my lips,

These favour'd lips of mine ;
Until the charm have power to make

New lifeblood warm the bosom,
And barren commonplaces break

In full and kindly blossom.

I pledge her silent at the board ;

Her gradual fingers steal
And touch upon the master-chord

Of all I felt and feel.
Old wishes, ghosts of broken plans,

And phantom hopes assemble;
And that child's heart within the man's

Begins to move and tremble.

Thro' many an hour of summer suns

By many pleasant ways,
Against its fountain upward runs

The current of my days:
I kiss the lips I once have kiss'd ;

The gas-light wavers dimmer;
And softly, thro' a vinous mist,

My college friendships glimmer.

I grow in worth, and wit, and sense,

Unboding critic-pen, Or that eternal want of

pence, Which veres public men, Who hold their hands to all, and

cry For that which all deny themWho sweep the crossings, wet or dry,

And all the world go by them.

Ah yet, tlo' all the world forsake,

Tho’ fortune clip my wings,
I will not cramp my heart, nor take

Half-views of men and things.
Let Whig and Tory stir their blood ;

There must be stormy weather;
But for some true result of good

All parties work together.

Let there be thistles, there are grapes ;

If old things, there are new ;
Ten thousand broken lights and shapes,

Yet glimpses of the true.
Let raft's be rife in prose and rhyme,

We lack not rhymes and reasons,
As on this whirligig of Time

We circle with the seasons.

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