20 66 A PETITION TO TIME. And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir, And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir? "The curse of hell frae me sall ze beir, Mither, mither: The curse of hell frae me sall ze beir — ANONYMOUS. A PETITION TO TIME. TOUCH us gently, Time! Let us glide adown thy stream Humble voyagers are we: Husband, wife, and children three; (One is lost an angel, fled To the azure overhead!) Touch us gently, Time! We've not proud nor soaring wings: Lies in simple things. Humble voyagers are we, Seeking only some calm clime: Touch us gently, gentle Time! BRYAN WALLER PROCTER. (Barry Cornwall.) THE DULE'S 'THIS BONNET O' MINE. THE dule's i' this bonnet o' mine: (Aw wur gooin' for wayter to th' well,) An' he begged that aw'd wed him i' May. Bi'th' mass, iv he'll let me, aw will! When he took my two honds into his : An' aw durstn't look up in his face, Heaw happy aw felt-for, thae knows, But th' tale wur at th' end o' my tung: For aw thought to seem forrud wur wrung; Though it isn't a thing one should own, Ohearts that break and que no sign facing tresses, Till Death pours out his Cordial wine 8 low-dropped from omsery's crusting preses breath or echoing chard of singing hidden pang were given, were poured. As sad as earth, as sweet as Heaven! Oliver Wendell Hormes. THE VOICELESS. Iv aw'd th' pikein' o' th' world to mysel', Neaw, Mally, aw've towd thae my mind; As ever stept eawt into th' sun. Go, jump at thy chance, an' get wed; An' mak th' best o' th' job when it's done!' Eh, dear! but it's time to be gwon: Aw connut for shame be too soon, An' aw wouldn't for th' world be too late. Aw'm o' ov a tremble to th' heel: Dost think 'at my bonnet'll do? "Be off, lass-thae looks very weel; He wants noan o' th' bonnet, thae foo!" EDWIN WAUGH. THE VOICELESS. WE Count the broken lyres that rest But o'er their silent sister's breast The wild flowers who will stoop to number? 23 24 THE VOICELESS. A few can touch the magic string, And noisy Fame is proud to win them; But die with all their music in them! Nay, grieve not for the dead alone, Whose song has told their hearts' sad story: O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow, O hearts that break and give no sign, OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. |