THERE SITS A BIRD.

THERE sits a bird on every tree,
With a heigh-ho!

There sits a bird on every tree,

Sings to his love, as I to thee,

With a heigh-ho, and a heigh-ho!

Young maids must marry.

There grows a flower on every bough,
With a heigh-ho!

There grows a flower on every bough,
Its
gay leaves kiss-I'll show you how :
With a heigh-ho, and a heigh-ho!
Young maids must marry.

The sun's a bridegroom, earth a bride ; With a heigh-ho!

The sun's a bridegroom, earth a bride; They court from morn to eventide :

The earth shall pass, but love abide.

With a heigh-ho, and a heigh-ho!
Young maids must marry.

TWIN STARS ALOFT.

TWIN stars, aloft in ether clear,
Around each other roll alway,
Within one common atmosphere
Of their own mutual light and day.

And myriad happy eyes are bent

Upon their changeless love alway; As strengthened by their one intent, They pour the flood of life and day.

So we through this world's waning night, Shall, hand in hand, pursue our way; Shed round us order, love, and light,

And shine unto the perfect day.

YOUNG MARY.

YOUNG Mary walked sadly down through the green clover, And sighed as she looked at the babe at her breast;

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My roses are faded, my false love a rover,

The green graves they call me, 'Come home to your

rest." "

Then by rode a soldier in gorgeous arraying,

And "where is your bride-ring, my fair maid!" he cried ;

"I ne'er had a bride-ring, by false man's betraying, Nor token of love but this babe at my side.

"Tho' gold could not buy me, sweet words could deceive

me;

So faithful and lonely till death I must roam.'

"O Mary, sweet Mary, look up and forgive me,

With wealth and with glory your true love comes home.

"So give my own babe, those soft arms adorning,
I'll wed you and cherish you, never to stray;
For it's many a dark and a wild cloudy morning
Turns out by the noon-time a sunshiny day."

THE MERRY LARK WAS UP AND SINGING.

THE merry, merry lark was up and singing,

And the hare was out and feeding on the lea, And the merry, merry bells below were ringing, When my child's laugh rang through me.

Now the hare is snared and dead beside the snow-yard,
And the lark beside the dreary winter sea,

And my baby in his cradle in the churchyard
Waiteth there until the bells bring me.

EPICEDIUM ON THE DEATH OF A CERTAIN

JOURNAL.

SO DIE, thou child of stormy dawn,
Thou winter flower, forlorn of nurse;
Chilled early by the bigot's curse,
The pedants frown, the worldlings yawn.

Fair death, to fall in teeming June,
When every seed which drops to earth
Takes root, and wins a second birth

From steaming shower and gleaming moon.
Fall warm, fall fast, thou mellow rain;
Thou rain of God, make fat the land;
That roots which parch in burning sand
May bud to flower and fruit again.

To grace, perchance, a fairer morn
In mightyr lands beyond the sea,
While honour falls to such as we
From hearts of heroes yet unborn.