#1878 #ABookOfMiscellaneousLyrics #EnglishWriters #VictorianWriters
SHE took the wood thro’ which she… But in the lake near which she wen… An image met, and swayed and swung… And three times with her image ble… The vision from that mirror fled,
(The chorus is old.) AWAY to the Fair, my lad did rep… Ere day had the welkin adorned; Now day’s glidden by and night’s i… And he, he has never returned:
CAN this be her? Her dark eyes… Two planets in the midnight heaven… Her cheeks the blood-dyed rose—her… The snow upon the mountains driven… Her tongue’s a silver bell to hear…
AIR—'Rossen the Beau.’ COME fill up the glass, and tho’… We tasted of gladness before, The thought of this moment for eve… Shall gladden the heart to its cor…
‘LOVE’S a pleasure, love’s a tre… Why the joys of love withstand?’ Alf so pleadeth, Effie heedeth And—What ails the lily-wand? Lighter grow her airs and lighter—
How long shall injustice prevail? How long shall the weak rue the st… The children of Poland bewail The yoke of the Russian?—How long… Lo! one generation goes by,
BALOO, my sweet baby—the blossom… I dandle’t till weary, and sigh, With not a bare drop in my bosom To silence its pitiful cry. The red moon above us right rarely…
AH, be not vain. In yon flower-be… As rare a pearl, did I appear, As ever grew in ocean shell, To dangle at a Helen’s ear. So was I till a cruel blast
DUSKIER than the clouds that li… ‘Tween the coal-pit and the sky, Lo, how Willy whistles by Right cheery from the colliree. Duskier might the laddie be
AS ever a bard in such pitiful pl… Was ever such seen by yon stars in… A-pit or a-bed, by day and by nigh… I’m plagued by the magic of two ha… A leaf in a whirlwind, I’m sent t…
COAL black are the tresses of Fa… But never a mortal could see The coal-coloured tresses of Anni… And be as a body should be. White, white, is her forehead, and…
SHE is not fashioned to command, Nor once, for grace, in her is sho… A form that peers the lily-wand— An air the lily’s self might own; Not such her vaunt, tho’ such ench…
MY little boy, thy laughter Goes to my bosom core, And sends me yearning after The days that are no more. Adown my cheek is stealing
I READ in an old book the myth Of the Hellenian damsel with The magic needle, when there fell On me a power—a mystic spell— I could not well to others tell.
(Suggested by an old verse.) THRO’ the dark and dreary night, Golden slumbers kiss thine eyes; Sleep, and in the early light With a golden smile arise!