Say, it she's fretful, I have bands
Of pearl and gold to bind her hands;
Tell her, if she struggle still,
I have myrtle rods at will,
For to tame though not to kill.

Take thou my blessing thus, and go,
And tell her this,--but do not so!
Lest a handsome anger fly
Like a lightning from her eye,
And burn thee up as well as I.

_Herrick._




THE ANCHOR'S WEIGH'D.


The tear fell gently from her eye,
When last we parted on the shore;
My bosom heav'd with many a sigh,
To think I ne'er might see her more.
"Dear youth," she cried,
"and canst thou haste away?
My heart will break; a little moment stay.
Alas, I cannot, I cannot part from thee.
The anchor's weigh'd,