For thee I will arouse my thoughts to try
  All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains;
For thy dear sake I will walk patiently
  Through these long hours, nor call their minutes pains.

I will this dreary blank of absence make
  A noble task-time; and will therein strive
To follow excellence, and to o’ertake
  More good than I have won since yet I live.

So may this doomed time build up in me
  A thousand graces, which shall thus be thine;
So may my love and longing hallowed be,
  And thy dear thought an influence divine.

FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE.

ROBIN ADAIR.

What’s this dull town to me? 
    Robin’s not near,—­
He whom I wished to see,
    Wished for to hear;
Where’s all the joy and mirth
Made life a heaven on earth,
O, they’re all fled with thee,
    Robin Adair!

What made the assembly shine? 
    Robin Adair: 
What made the ball so fine? 
    Robin was there: 
What, when the play was o’er,
What made my heart so sore? 
O, it was parting with
  Robin Adair!

But now thou art far from me,
  Robin Adair;
But now I never see
  Robin Adair;
Yet him I loved so well
Still in my heart shall dwell;
O, I can ne’er forget
  Robin Adair!

Welcome on shore again,
  Robin Adair! 
Welcome once more again,
  Robin Adair! 
I feel thy trembling hand;
Tears in thy eyelids stand,
To greet thy native land,
  Robin Adair!

Long I ne’er saw thee, love,
  Robin Adair;
Still I prayed for thee, love,
  Robin Adair;
When thou wert far at sea,
Many made love to me,
But still I thought on thee,
  Robin Adair.

Come to my heart again,
  Robin Adair;
Never to part again,
  Robin Adair;
And if thou still art true,
I will be constant too,
And will wed none but you,
  Robin Adair!

LADY CAROLINE KEPPEL.

DAISY.

Where the thistle lifts a purple crown
  Six foot out of the turf,
And the harebell shakes on the windy hill—­
  O the breath of the distant surf!—­

The hills look over on the South,
  And southward dreams the sea;
And, with the sea-breeze hand in hand,
  Came innocence and she.

Where ’mid the gorse the raspberry
  Red for the gatherer springs,
Two children did we stray and talk
  Wise, idle, childish things.

She listened with big-lipped surprise,
  Breast-deep mid flower and spine: 
Her skin was like a grape, whose veins
  Run snow instead of wine.

She knew not those sweet words she spake. 
  Nor knew her own sweet way;
But there’s never a bird, so sweet a song
  Thronged in whose throat that day!

Oh, there were flowers in Storrington
  On the turf and on the sprays;
But the sweetest flower on Sussex hills
  Was the Daisy-flower that day!