"O lullaby, my own deir child! Lullaby, deir child, deir!

I wold thy father were a king,

Thy mother laid on a bier!'

"O, open the door, Burd Helen," he says, "O, open the door to me;

Or, as my sword hangs by my gair,*
I'll gar it gang in three!"

"That never was my mother's custome, And I hope it's ne'er be mine; A knicht into her companie,

When she dries a' her pyne."

He hit the door then wi' his foot, Sae did he wi' his knee;

Till door o' deal, and locks o' steel, In splinders he gart* flee.

"An askin', an askin', Lord John," she says, "An askin' ye 'll grant me;

The meanest maid about your house,
To bring a drink to me.

"An askin', an askin', my dear Lord John, An askin' ye 'll grant me;

The warsten bouir in a' your tours,
For thy young son and me!"

"I grant, I grant your askins, Helen,
An' that and mair frae me;
The very best bouir in a' my touirs,
For my young son and thee.

"O, have thou comfort, fair Helen,
pray;

Be of good cheer, I

And your bridal and your kirking baith
Shall stand upon ae day."

And he has ta'en her Burd Helen,
And rowed her in the silk;
And he has ta'en his ain young son,
And washed him in the milk.

And there was ne'er a gayer bridegroom,
Nor yet a blyther bride,

As they, Lord John and Lady Helen,
Neist day to kirk did ride.

ANONYMOUS.

She'll weep for naught for his dear sake; She clasps her sister in her sleep;

Her love in dreams is most awake.
Her soul, that once with pleasure shook
Did any eyes her beauty own,
Now wonders how they dare to look
On what belongs to him alone.
The indignity of taking gifts

Exhilarates her loving breast;
A rapture of submission lifts
Her life into celestial rest.
There's nothing left of what she was,
Back to the babe the woman dies;
And all the wisdom that she has
Is to love him for being wise.
She's confident because she fears;
And, though discreet when he's away,
If none but her dear despot hears,

She'll prattle like a child at play.
Perchance, when all her praise is said,
He tells the news, a battle won-
On either side ten thousand dead-
Describing how the whole was done :
She thinks, He's looking on my face!
I am his joy; whate'er I do,
He sees such time-contenting grace

66

In that, he'd have me always so!" And, evermore, for either's sake,

To the sweet folly of the dove She joins the cunning of the snake, To rivet and exalt his love.

Her mode of candor is deceit ;

And what she thinks from what she 'll say, (Although I'll never call her cheat,)

Lies far as Scotland from Cathay. Without his knowledge he was won,

Against his nature kept devout; She'll never tell him how 't was done, And he will never find it out.

If, sudden, he suspects her wiles,

And hears her forging chain and trap,
And looks, she sits in simple smiles,
Her two hands lying in her lap!
Her secret (privilege of the Bard,

Whose fancy is of either sex)

Is mine; but let the darkness guard
Mysteries that light would more perplex.

COVENTRY PATMORE.

THE MISTRESS.

If he's capricious, she 'll be so ; But, if his duties constant are,

She lets her loving favor glow

As steady as a tropic star.

BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS.

Like fairy-gifts fading away!

Let thy loveliness fade as it will,

And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul may be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear!
O the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,

As the sunflower turns to her god when he sets
The same look which she turned when he rose !
THOMAS MOORE ("Irish Melodies").

WERE I AS BASE AS IS THE LOWLY
PLAIN.

WERE I as base as is the lowly plain,
And you, my Love, as high as heaven above,
Yet should the thoughts of me your humble

swain

Ascend to heaven, in honor of my Love.

Were I as high as heaven above the plain,
And you, my Love, as humble and as low
As are the deepest bottoms of the main,
Whereso'er you were, with you my Love should
go.

Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies,
My love should shine on you like to the sun,
And look upon you with ten thousand eyes
Till heaven waxed blind, and till the world were
done.

Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you,

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

"Now tread we a measure," said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
While her mother did fret, and her father did
fume,

JOSHUA SYLVester.

LOCHINVAR.

O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;

And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had

none,

He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochin-

var.

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,

He swam the Eske River where ford there was

none;

But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

and plume;

And the bridemaidens whispered, "'T were bet

ter by far

To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall-door, and the charger

stood near;

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung; "She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush,

and scaur;

They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan;

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;

The maid and page renewed their strife;
The palace banged, and buzzed and clackt;
And all the long-pent stream of life
Dashed downward in a cataract.

And last of all the king awoke,

And in his chair himself upreared,

And yawned, and rubbed his face, and spoke :

By holy rood, a royal beard!

How say you? we have slept, my lords; My beard has grown into my lap." The barons swore, with many words, "T was but an after-dinner's nap. "Pardy!" returned the king, "but still

My joints are something stiff or so. My lord, and shall we pass the bill

I mentioned half an hour ago?" The chancellor, sedate and vain,

In courteous words returned reply; But dallied with his golden chain, And, smiling, put the question by.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

THE "SLEEPING BEAUTY DEPARTS WITH HER LOVER.

FROM "THE DAY DREAM."

AND on her lover's arm she leant,

And round her waist she felt it fold; And far across the hills they went

In that new world which is the old. Across the hills, and far away

Beyond their utmost purple rim, And deep into the dying day,

The happy princess followed him. "I'd sleep another hundred years, O love, for such another kiss!" "O wake forever, love," she hears,

"O love, 't was such as this and this." And o'er them many a sliding star,

And many a merry wind was borne, And, streamed through many a golden bar, The twilight melted into morn.

"O eyes long laid in happy sleep!"

"O happy sleep, that lightly fled !" "O happy kiss, that woke thy sleep!"

"O love, thy kiss would wake the dead!" And o'er them many a flowing range

Of vapor buoyed the crescent bark; And, rapt through many a rosy change, The twilight died into the dark.

"A hundred summers! can it be?

And whither goest thou, tell me where !' "O, seek my father's court with me,

For there are greater wonders there."

They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve,
Young virgins might have visions of delight,
And soft adorings from their loves receive
Upon the honeyed middle of the night,
If ceremonies due they did aright;
As, supperless to bed they must retire,

His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
Like pious incense from a censer old,

Seemed taking flight for heaven without a death, Past the sweet virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.

Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require Of heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.

VII.

Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline;
The music, yearning like a god in pain,
Fixed on the floor, saw many a sweeping train
She scarcely heard; her maiden eyes divine,
Pass by, she heeded not at all; in vain
And back retired; not cooled by high disdain,
Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier,
But she saw not; her heart was otherwhere;
She sighed for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the
year.

VIII.

She danced along with vague, regardless eyes,
Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short;
The hallowed hour was near at hand; she sighs
Amid the timbrels, and the thronged resort
Of whisperers in anger, or in sport;
Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn,
Hoodwinked with fairy fancy; all amort
Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn,
And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn.

IX.

So, purposing each moment to retire,
She lingered still. Meantime, across the moors,
Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire
For Madeline. Beside the portal doors,
Buttressed from moonlight, stands he, and im-
plores

All saints to give him sight of Madeline;
But for one moment in the tedious hours,
That he might gaze and worship all unseen;
Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss, — in sooth
such things have been.

X.

He ventures in; let no buzzed whisper tell; All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords Will storm his heart, love's feverous citadel;