Taking thy part, hath rushed aside the law, Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here, Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog, and little mouse, every unworthy thing, Live here in heaven and may look on her, Flies may do this, when I from this must fly; How hast thou the heart, Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, A sin-absolver, and my friend professed, To mangle me with that word banishment? Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word. Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. Fri. I'll give thee armor to keep off that word; Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy! To comfort thee, though thou art banished. Rom. Yet banished?- Hang up philosophy! Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears. Rom. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes? Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel: Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, Doting like me, and like me banished, Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground, as I do now, Shakespeare. THE BALLAD OF BABIE BELL. HAVE you not heard the poets tell How came the dainty Babie Bell The gates of heaven were left ajar; Hung in the glistening depths of even,— Its bridges running to and fro, O'er which the white-winged angels go, She touched a bridge of flowers,- those feet, They fell like dew upon the flowers, And thus came dainty Babie Bell She came and brought delicious May. The swallows built beneath the eaves; And o'er the porch the trembling vine How sweetly, softly, twilight fell! And opening spring-tide flowers, When the dainty Babie Bell Came to this world of ours! O Babie, dainty Babie Bell, How fair she grew from day to day! So full of meaning, pure and bright, Of those oped gates of Paradise. Was love so lovely born: We felt we had a link between The land beyond the morn. And for the love of those dear eyes, For love of her whom God led forth (The mother's being ceased on earth When Babie came from Paradise), For love of Him who smote our lives, And wove the chords of joy and pain, We said, Dear Christ! - our hearts bent down Like violets after rain. And now the orchards, which were white The clustered apples burnt like flame, The grapes hung purpling in the grange; Her lissome form more perfect grew, We thought her lovely when she came, God's hand had taken away the seal That held the portals of her speech; And oft she said a few strange words Whose meaning lay beyond our reach. She never was a child to us, We never held her being's key, It came upon us by degrees: The knowledge that our God had sent And all our hopes were changed to fears, We cried aloud in our belief, "Oh, smite us gently, gently, God! At last he came, the messenger, She only crossed her little hands, We wove the roses round her brow,— T. B. Aldrich, LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. TOLL for the brave! The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore! |