Then she took up her burden of life again,
Saying only, "It might have been."
Alas for maiden, alas for judge,
For rich repiner and household drudge!
God pity them both! and pity us all,
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall;
For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: "It might have been!"
Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies
Deeply buried from human eyes;
And, in the hereafter, angels may
Roll the stone from its grave away!
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.
THE PALM AND THE PINE.
Beneath an Indian palm a girl
Of other blood reposes;
Her cheek is clear and pale as pearl
Amid that wild of roses.
Beside a northern pine a boy
Is leaning fancy-bound.
Nor listens where with noisy joy
Awaits the impatient hound.
Cool grows the sick and feverish calm,
Relaxed the frosty twine.--
The pine-tree dreameth of the palm,
The palm-tree of the pine.
As soon shall nature interlace
Those dimly-visioned boughs,
As these young lovers face to face
Renew their early vows.
From the German of HEINRICH HEINE.
Translation of RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES, LORD HOUGHTON.
CUMNOR HALL.
[SAID TO HAVE BEEN THE SUGGESTIVE ORIGIN OF SCOTT'S
"KENILWORTH."]
The dews of summer night did fall;
The moon, sweet regent of the sky,
Silvered the walls of Cumnor Hall,
And many an oak that grew thereby.
Now naught was heard beneath the skies,
The sounds of busy life were still,
Save an unhappy lady's sighs,
That issued from that lonely pile.
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