CLXII AND wilt thou leave me thus? And wilt thou leave me thus, And wilt thou leave me thus, That have given thee my heart Never for to depart Neither for pain nor smart : And wilt thou leave me thus? Say nay! say nay! And wilt thou leave me thus, And have no more pity Of him that loveth thee? Alas! thy cruelty! And wilt thou leave me thus? Say nay! say nay! SIR THOMAS WYATT. CLXIII THE ADIEU (SONG FROM Rokeby) "A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid, To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, A doublet of the Lincoln green,— No more of me you knew, My love! No more of me you knew. "This morn is merry June, I trow, But she shall bloom in winter snow He turned his charger as he spake, He gave his bridle reins a shake, Said, "Adieu for evermore, As old Time makes these decay, But a smooth and steadfast mind, No tears, Celia, now shall win And find nought but pride and scorn. Some Power, in my revenge, convey THOMAS CAREW. CLXV у LINES WHEN the lamp is shattered, The rainbow's glory is shed. As music and splendour No song when the spirit is mute : No song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruined cell, That ring the dead seaman's knell. When hearts have once mingled To endure what it once possest. Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier? Its passions will rock thee As the storms rock the ravens on high : Bright reason will mock thee, From thy nest every rafter Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come. PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. CLXVI A LOST OPPORTUNITY WE might, if you had willed, have conquered heaven. Of Paradise we stood, one fortunate even, |