Oh, open the door, some pity to shew,
Oh, open the door to me, oh!
Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true,
Oh, open the door to me, oh!

Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek,
But caulder thy love for me, oh!
The frost that freezes the life at my heart,
Is nought to my pains fra thee, oh!

The wan moon is setting behind the white wave,
And time is setting with me, oh!
False friends, false love, farewell! for mair
I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, oh!

She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide;

Du schones Fischermädchen

Oh lovely fishermaiden,
Come, bring your boat to land;
And we will sit together
And whisper, hand in hand.

Oh rest upon my bosom,
And fear no harm from me.
You give your body daily,
Unfearing to the sea. . . .

My heart is like the ocean
With storm and ebb and flow —
And many a pearly treasure
Burns in the depths below.

O love builds on the azure sea,
And Love builds on the golden sand;
And Love builds on the rose-winged cloud,
And sometimes Love builds on the land.

O, if Love build on sparkling sea,
And if Love build on golden strand,
And if Love build on rosy cloud,
To Love these are the solid land.

O, Love will build his lily walls,
And Love his pearly roof will rear,
On cloud, or land, or mist, or sea, —
Love's solid land is everywhere!

1. O'er waiting harpstrings of the mind There weeps a strain, Low,
2. And wake a whitewinged angel throng Of thought, illumed By
sad, and sweet, whose measures bind The power of pain,
faith, and breathed in raptured song, With love perfumed.

3. Then His unveiled, sweet mercies show
Life's burdens light.
I kiss the cross, and wake to know
A world more bright.

4. And o'er earth's troubled, angry sea
I see Christ walk,
And come to me, and tenderly,
Divinely talk.

5. Thus Truth engrounds me on the rock,
Upon life's shore,

I
"O Time, whence comes the Mother's moody look amid her labours,
As of one who all unwittingly has wounded where she loves?
Why weaves she not her world-webs to according lutes and tabors,
With nevermore this too remorseful air upon her face,
As of angel fallen from grace?"
II

--"Her look is but her story: construe not its symbols keenly:
In her wonderworks yea surely has she wounded where she loves.
The sense of ills misdealt for blisses blanks the mien most queenly,
Self-smitings kill self-joys; and everywhere beneath the sun

O thou, whose eyes were closed in death's pale night,
Ere fate revealed thee to my aching sight;
Ambiguous something, by no standard fixed,
Frail span, of naught and of existence mixed;
Embryo, imperfect as my tort'ring thought,
Sad outcast of existence and of naught;
Thou, who to guilty love first ow'st thy frame,
Whom guilty honour kills to hide its shame;
Dire offspring! formed by love's too pleasing pow'r!
Honour's dire victim in a luckless hour!
Soften the pangs that still revenge thy doom:
Nor, from the dark abyss of nature's womb,

Foolish Lover, go and seek
For the damask of the Rose,
And the Lilies white dispose
To adorn thy mistresse cheek.

Steal some star out of the sky,
Rob the Phoenix, and the East
Of her wealthy sweets devest
To enrich her breath or eye.

We thy borrow'd pride despise,
For this wine (to which we are
Votaries) is richer farre
Then her cheek, or breath, or eyes.

And should that coy Fair one view
These diviner beauties, she
In this flame would rivall thee,
And be taught to love thee too.

1. O Love that lights the eastern sky And shrouds the evening rest;
2. O life, content beneath the blue! Or, if God will the gray,
From out whose hand the swallows fly, Within whose heart they nest!
Then tranquil yet, till light breaks through To melt the mist away!

3. O death that sails so close to shore
At twilight! From my gate
I scan the darkening sea once more,
And for its message wait.

4. What lies beyond the afterglow?
To life's new dawn how far?
As if an answer, spoken low,
Love lights the evening star.

O God, I love thee, I love thee —
Not out of hope of heaven for me
Nor fearing not to love and be
In the everlasting burning.
Thou, thou, my Jesus, after me
Didst reach thine arms out dying,
For my sake sufferedst nails and lance,┬░
Mocked and marred countenance,
Sorrows passing number,
Sweat and care and cumber,
Yea and death, and this for me,
And thou couldst see me sinning:
Then I, why should not I love thee,
Jesu so much in love with me?
Not for heaven's sake; not to be
Out of hell by loving thee;

O Faithless World, and thy more faithless Part,
a womans heart!
The true shop of variety, where sits
nothing but fits
And feavers of desire, and pangs of love,
which toyes remove.
Why was she born to please, or I to trust
words writ in dust?
Suffering her Eys to govern my despair,
my pain for air;
And fruit of time rewarded with untruth,
the food of youth.
Untrue she was: yet, I beleev'd her eys
(instructed spies)
Till I was taught, that Love was but a scool
to breed a fool.
Or sought she more by triumphs of deniall,