| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
2io THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
||
|
So, as I grew from boy to man,
I bent me to that bidding — My spirit of each selfish plan
And cruel passion ridding; For, thus I hoped some day to aid —
Oh 1 can such hope be vain ? When my dear country shall be made
A Nation once again. |
||
|
A PLEA FOR LOVE
T
HE summer brook flows in the bed, The winter torrent tore asunder; The skylark's gentle wings are spread Where walk the lightning and the thunder; And thus you'll find the sternest soul The gayest tenderness concealing, And minds that seem to mock control, Are ordered by some fairy feeling. |
||
|
Then, maiden ! start not from the hand
That's hardened by the swaying sabre — The pulse beneath may be as bland
As evening after day of labour: And, maiden ! Start not from the brow
That thought has knit, and passion darkened — In twilight hours, 'neath forest bough,
The tenderest tales are often hearkened. |
||
|
|
||