THE BLOOM HATH FLED THY CHEEK. 67

It seems as 't were but yesterday
We were the happiest twain,

When murmured sighs and joyous tears,
Dropping like rain,

Discoursed my love, and told how loved
I was again.

Farewell!

'T was not in cold and measured phrase
We gave our passion name;
Scorning such tedious eloquence,
Our heart's fond flame

And long-imprisoned feelings fast
In deep sobs came.
Farewell!

Would that our love had been the love
That merest worldlings know,

When passion's draught to our doomed lips

Turns utter woe,

And our poor dream of happiness

Vanishes so!

Farewell!

But in the wreck of all our hopes
There's yet some touch of bliss,
Since Fate robs not our wretchedness
Of this last kiss:

Despair and love and madness meet

In this, in this.

Farewell!

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

H

The Mango-Tree.

E wiled me through the furzy croft;
He wiled me down the sandy lane.
He told his boy's love, soft and oft,
Until I told him mine again.

We married, and we sailed the main;
A soldier, and a soldier's wife.

We marched through many a burning plain;
We sighed for many a gallant life.

But his

God keep it safe from harm!

He toiled, and dared, and earned command. And those three stripes upon his arm Were more to me than gold or land.

Sure he would win some great renown:

Our lives were strong, our hearts were high.

One night the fever struck him down,

I sat, and stared, and saw him die.

I had his children

- one, two, three.

One week I had them, blithe and sound;
The next-beneath this mango-tree,
By him in barrack burying-ground.

I sit beneath the mango-shade;

I live my five years' life all o'er
Round yonder stems his children played;
He mounted guard at yonder door.

'T is I, not they, am gone and dead.

They live, they know, they feel, they see.

Their spirits light the golden shade

Beneath the giant mango-tree.

MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE.

All things, save I, are full of life:

The minas' pluming velvet breasts; The monkeys, in their foolish strife;

The swooping hawks, the swinging nests.

The lizards basking on the soil,

The butterflies who sun their wings;
The bees about their household toil,
They live, they love, the blissful things.

Each tender purple mango-shoot,

That folds and droops so bashful down:
It lives; it sucks some hidden root;
It rears at last a broad green crown.

It blossoms; and the children cry –
"Watch when the mango-apples fall;

It lives; but rootless, fruitless, I —

I breathe and dream;- and that is all.

Thus am I dead: yet cannot die:

But still within my foolish brain There hangs a pale-blue evening sky; A furzy croft; a sandy lane.

CHARLES KINGSLEY.

69

My Heid is like to rend, Willie.

Y heid is like to rend, Willie,

M My heart is like to break ;

I'm wearin' aff my feet, Willie,
I'm dyin' for your sake!

Oh, lay your cheek to mine, Willie,
Your hand on my briest-bane,

Oh, say ye 'll think on me, Willie,
When I am deid and gane!

It's vain to comfort me, Willie,

Sair grief maun ha'e its will;
But let me rest upon your briest
To sab and greet my fill.
Let me sit on your knee, Willie,
Let me shed by your hair,
And look into the face, Willie,
I never sall see mair!

I'm sittin' on your knee, Willie,
For the last time in my life,
A puir heart-broken thing, Willie,
A mither, yet nae wife.

Ay, press your hand upon my heart,
And press it mair and mair,
Or it will burst the silken twine,
Sae strang is its despair.

Oh, wae's me for the hour, Willie,
When we thegither met,

Oh, wae's me for the time, Willie,
That our first tryst was set!
Oh, wae 's me for the loanin' green
Where we were wont to gae,
And wae's me for the destinie
That gart me luv thee sae!

Oh, dinna mind my words, Willie,
I downa seek to blame;
But oh, it's hard to live, Willie,

And dree a warld's shame!

Het tears are hailin' ower your cheek
And hailin' ower your chin:
Why weep ye sae for worthlessness,
For sorrow and for sin?

I'm weary of this warld, Willie,

And sick wi' a' I see,

MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE.

I canna live as I ha'e lived,

Or be as I should be.

But fauld unto your heart, Willie,

The heart that still is thine,

And kiss ance mair the white, white cheek

Ye said was red langsyne.

A stoun' gaes through my heid, Willie,
A sair stoun' through my heart;

Oh, haud me up, and let me kiss
Thy brow ere we twa pairt.
Anither, and anither yet! —

How fast my life-strings break!
Fareweel! fareweel! through yon kirk-yard

Step lichtly for my sake!

The lav'rock in the lift, Willie,

That lilts far ower our heid,

Will sing the morn as merrilie
Abune the clay-cauld deid;
And this green turf we're sittin' on,
Wi' dew-draps shimmerin' sheen,
Will hap the heart that luvit thee
As warld has seldom seen.

But oh, remember me, Willie,
On land where'er ye be;

And oh, think on the leal, leal heart,
That ne'er luvit ane but thee!

And oh, think on the cauld, cauld mools
That file my yellow hair,

That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin

Ye never sall kiss mair!

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

71