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COMRADES, leave me here a little, while as yet ’tis early
Leave me here, and when you want me,
upon bugle horn.
'Tis the place, and round the gables, as of old, the cur
lews call, Dreary gleams about the moorland flying over Locksley
Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks the sandy
tracts, And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into cataracts.
Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere I went to
Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the West.
Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising thro' the mellow
shade, Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid.
Here about the beach I wander'd, nourishing a youth
sublime With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of
When the centuries behind me like a fruitful land
reposed; When I clung to all the present for the promise that it
When I dipt into the future far as human eye could
Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that In the Spring a fuller crimson comes upon the Robin's
In the Spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another
In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove; In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to
thoughts of love.
Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for
one so young, And her eyes on
motions with a mute observance hung.
And I said, “ My cousin Amy, speak and speak the truth
Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets to thee."
On her pallid cheek and forehead came a colour and a
light, As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the northern
And she turn'd
her bosom shaken with a sudden storm
of sighs — All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of hazel eyes
Saying, “I have hid my feelings, fearing they should do
me wrong ; Saying, “Dost thou love me, cousin ?" weeping, “ I have
loved thee long."
Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in his
glowing hands; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands.
Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the
chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music
out of sight.
Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the copses
ring, And her whisper throng'd my pulses with the fullness of
Many an evening by the waters did we watch the stately
ships, And our spirits rush'd together at the touching of the lips.
O my cousin shallow-hearted! O my Amy mine no
O the dreary, dreary moorland !
O the barren, barren
Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all songs
sung, Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a shrewish
Is it well to wish thee happy? —having known me - - to
On a range of lower feelings and a narrower heart than
Yet it shall be: thou shalt lower to his level day by day, What is fine within thee growing coarse to sympathise