Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky! _Tennyson._ You hear them, oh my heart? _Alice Cary._ ’Tis twelve at night by the castle clock, _Coleridge._ Beloved, we must part! _Alice Cary._ “Come back! come back!” she cried in grief, _Campbell._ “My eyes are dim with tears— _Bayard Taylor._ How shall I live through all the days, _Mrs. Osgood._ All through a hundred years?” _T. S. Perry._ ’Twas in the prime of summer time, _Hood._ She blessed me with her hand; _Hoyt._ We strayed together, deeply blest, _Mrs. Edwards._ Into the Dreaming Land. _Cornwall._ The laughing bridal roses blow, _Patmore._ To dress her dark brown hair; _Bayard Taylor._ No maiden may with her compare, _Brailsford._ Most beautiful, most rare! _Read._ I clasped it on her sweet cold hand, _Browning._ The precious golden link; _Smith._ I calmed her fears, and she was calm, _Coleridge._ “Drink, pretty creature, drink!” _Wordsworth._ And so I won my Genevieve, _Coleridge._ And walked in Paradise; _Hervey._ The fairest thing that ever grew _Wordsworth._ Atween me and the skies. _Osgood._ * * * * * Breathes there a man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, Shoot folly as it flies? Ah, more than tears of blood can tell, Are in that word farewell, farewell; ’Tis folly to be wise. And what is Friendship but a name That burns on Etna’s breast of flame? Thus runs the world away. Sweet is the ship that’s under sail To where yon taper points the vale With hospitable ray. Drink to me only with thine eyes Through cloudless climes and starry skies, My native land, good-night. Adieu, adieu, my native shore; ’Tis Greece, but living Greece no more. Whatever is is right. Oh, ever thus from childhood’s hour, Daughter of Jove, relentless power, In russet mantle clad. The rocks and hollow mountains rung While yet in early Greece she sung, I’m pleased, and yet I’m sad.