Your aged eyes will see in mine all they've still shown to you,

Mild is Maire bhan astór,

Mine is Maire bhan astór,

And mine in yours all they have seen since this old ring was new.

O FAIREST of creation, last and best Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet! How art thou lost, how on a sudden lost, Defaced, deflowered, and now to death devote! Rather, how hast thou yielded to transgress The strict forbiddance, how to violate

The sacred fruit forbidden! Some curséd fraud
Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown,
And me with thee hath ruined, for with thee
Certain my resolution is to die.

How can I live without thee, how forego
Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined,
To live again in these wild woods forlorn?
Should God create another Eve, and I
Another rib afford, yet loss of thee
Would never from my heart; no, no, I feel
The link of nature draw me: flesh of flesh,
Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state
Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe.

And too impatiently stamped with your foot:
Yet I insisted, yet you answered not;
But, with an angry wafture of your hand,
Gave sign for me to leave you: So I did;
Fearing to strengthen that impatience,
Which seemed too much enkindled; and withal
Hoping it was but an effect of humor,
Which sometime hath his hour with every

man.

It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep,
And, could it work so much upon your shape,
As it hath much prevailed on your condition,
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.
BRU. I am not well in health, and that is
all.

POR. Brutus is wise, and were he not in health, He would embrace the means to come by it.

BRU. Why, so I do :-good Portia, go to bed. POR. Is Brutus sick, —and is it physical To walk unbraced, and suck up the humors Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, To dare the vile contagion of the night, And tempt the rheumy and unpurgéd air To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus ; You have some sick offence within your mind, Which, by the right and virtue of my place, I ought to know of: And upon my knees I charm you, by my once commended beauty, By all your vows of love, and that great vow Which did incorporate and make us one, That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, Why you are heavy; and what men to-night Have had resort to you, for here have been Some six or seven, who did hide their faces Even from darkness.

BRU.

Kneel not, gentle Portia. POR. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.

Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,
Is it expected, I should know no secrets
That appertain to you? Am I yourself
But, as it were, in sort or limitation,

To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the

suburbs

Of your good pleasure? If it be no more,
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife.

BRU. You are my true and honorable wife;
As dear to me, as are the ruddy drops
That visit my sad heart.

POR. If this were true, then should I know

this secret.

I grant I am a woman; but, withal,

A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife :
I grant I am a woman; but, withal,
A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter.

An oak and an elm tree stand beside,
And behind does an ash-tree grow,
And a willow from the bank above
Droops to the water below.

A traveller came to the well of St. Keyne;
Pleasant it was to his eye,

For from cock-crow he had been travelling,
And there was not a cloud in the sky.

He drank of the water so cool and clear,
For thirsty and hot was he,
And he sat down upon the bank,

Under the willow-tree.

There came a man from the nighboring town
At the well to fill his pail,
On the well-side he rested it,

And bade the stranger hail.

"Now art thou a bachelor, stranger?" quoth he, "For an if thou hast a wife,

The happiest draught thou hast drank this day That ever thou didst in thy life.

"Or has your good woman, if one you have,
In Cornwall ever been?

For an if she have, I'll venture my life
She has drank of the well of St. Keyne."

"I have left a good woman who never was here," The stranger he made reply;

"But that my draught should be better for that, I pray you answer me why."

"St. Keyne, "quoth the countryman, "many a time Drank of this crystal well,

And before the angel summoned her
She laid on the water a spell.

"If the husband of this gifted well
Shall drink before his wife,
A happy man thenceforth is he,

For he shall be master for life.

"But if the wife should drink of it first,
Heaven help the husband then!"
The stranger stooped to the well of St. Keyne,
And drank of the waters again.

"You drank of the well, I warrant, betimes?" He to the countryman said.

But the countryman smiled as the stranger spake, And sheepishly shook his head.

"I hastened, as soon as the wedding was done, And left my wife in the porch.

But i' faith, she had been wiser than me,
For she took a bottle to church."

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

HOME, SWEET HOME.

FROM THE OPERA OF CLARI, THE MAID OF MILAN."

MID pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble there's no place like home!
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us here,
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with
elsewhere.

Home! home! sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home!

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain!
O, give me my lowly thatched cottage again!
The birds singing gayly that came at my call;—
Give me them! and the peace of mind dearer
than all !