A DIRGE. From CYMBELINE. William Shakespeare. FEAR no more the heat o' the sun, Thou thy worldly task hast done, Fear no more the frown o' the great; Fear no more the lightning-flash, Thou hast finish'd joy and moan: No exorciser harm thee! Nor no witchcraft charm thee! ANNABEL LEE. Edgar Allan Poe. It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know And this maiden she lived with no other thought I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea: But we loved with a love that was more than love — I and my ANNABEL LEE; With a love that the wingèd seraphs of heaven And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Yes! that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of many far wiser than we And neither the angels in heaven above, Of the beautiful ANNABEL Lee: For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling,- my darling, my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the side of the sea. FAIR HELEN OF KIRCONNELL. I WISH I were where Helen lies, Curst be the heart that thought the thought, When in my arms burd1 Helen dropt, 1 burd, lady. O think na 2 ye my heart was sair,3 When my love dropt down and spak nae mair!* On fair Kirconnell Lee. As I went down the water-side, I lighted down my sword to draw, For her sake that died for me. O Helen fair, beyond compare! O that I were where Helen lies! O Helen fair! O Helen chaste! If I were with thee, I were blest, I wish my grave were growing green, On fair Kirconnell Lee. I wish I were where Helen lies! And I am weary of the skies, For her sake that died for me. A lady of the name of Helen, daughter of the Laird of Kirconnell, in Dumfries-shire, and celebrated for her beauty, was beloved by two gentlemen. The name of the favored suitor was Adam Fleming; that of the other has escaped tradition. The addresses of the latter were favored by the friends of the lady, and the lovers were therefore obliged to meet in secret, in the churchyard of Kirconnell, a romantic spot, almost surrounded by the river Kirtle. During one of these private interviews, the jealous and despised lover suddenly appeared on the opposite bank of the stream, and levelled his carabine at the breast of his rival. Helen threw herself before her lover, received in her bosom the bullet, and died in his arms. A combat ensued between Fleming and the murderer, in which the latter was cut to pieces. THE BUGLE SONG. From THE PRINCESS. Alfred, Lord Tennyson. THE splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. |