They deck'd her courtly halls-
They rein'd her hundred steeds-
They shouted, at her palace gate,
"A noble queen succeeds!

Her name has stirr'd the mountains' sleep,
Her praise has fill'd the town;

And mourners, God had stricken deep, Look'd hearkening up, and did not weep! Alone she wept,

Who wept to wear a crown.

She saw no purple shine,

For tears had dimm'd her eyes:
She only knew her childhood's flowers
Were happier pageantries!

And while the heralds play'd their part,
For million shouts to drown,

"God save the Queen!" from hill to mart,
She heard, through all, her beating heart,
And turned and wept,
She wept to wear a crown.

God save thee, weeping queen,
Thou shalt be well beloved,
The tyrant's sceptre cannot move
As those pure tears have moved.
The nature in thine eye we see,
Which tyrants cannot own,
The love that guardeth liberties;
Strange blessing on the nation lies,
Whose sovereign wept,
Yea, wept to wear a crown.

God bless thee, weeping queen,
With blessing more divine;

And fill with better love than earth's
That tender heart of thine;

That when the thrones of earth shall be
As low as graves brought down,
A pierced hand may give to thee
The crown which angels shout to see!
Thou wilt not weep

To wear that heavenly crown!

MRS. BROWNING.

SWE

41.

SWEET AUBURN.

[From THE DESERTED VILLAGE.]

WEET Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheer'd the labouring swain,

Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid,
And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd;
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, when every sport could please;
How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endear'd each scene;
How often have I paused on every charm,
The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the busy mill,

The decent church that topp'd the neighb'ring hill,
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whisp'ring lovers made!

How often have I blest the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
And all the village train, from labour free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree!
While many a pastime circled in the shade,

The

young contending as the old survey'd ; And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round; And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired. The dancing pair that simply sought renown, By holding out to tire each other down; The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, While secret laughter titter'd round the place, The bashful virgin's side-long looks of love; The matron's glance that would those looks reprove, These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these With sweet succession taught e'en toil to please : These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed, These were thy charms-but all these charms are fled.

GOLDSMITH.

66

Y

42. ZARA'S EAR-RINGS.

[A MOORISH BALLAD.]

"MX ear-rings! my ear-rings! they've dropt into the well,

And what to say to Muça, I cannot, cannot tell.”"Twas thus, Granada's fountain by, spoke Albuharez' daughter,"The well is deep, far down they lie, beneath the cold blue waterTo me did Muça give them, when he spake his sad farewell, And what to say when he comes back, alas! I cannot tell

F

"My ear-rings! my ear-rings! they were pearls in silver set, That when my Moor was far away, I ne'er should him forget, That I ne'er to other tongue should list, nor smile on other's tale, But remember he my lips had kiss'd, pure as those ear-rings paleWhen he comes back and hears that I have dropp'd them in the well,

Oh what will Muça think of me, I cannot, cannot tell.

"My ear-rings! my ear-rings! he'll say they should have been
Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and glittering sheen,
Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shining clear,
Changing to the changing light, with radiance insincere-
That changeful mind unchanging gems are not befitting well-
Thus will he think,- and what to say, alas! I cannot tell.

"He'll think when I to market went, I loiter'd by the way;
He'll think a willing ear I lent to all the lads might say;
He'll think some other lover's hand, among my tresses noosed,
From the ears where he had placed them, my rings of pearl un-
loosed;

He'll think when I was sporting so beside this marble well,
My pearls fell in,-and what to say, alas! I cannot tell.

"He'll say I am a woman, and we are all the same;
He'll say I loved when he was here to whisper of his flame-
But when he went to Tunis my virgin troth had broken,
And thought no more of Muça, and cared not for his token.
My ear-rings! my ear-rings! oh! luckless, luckless well!
For what to say to Muça, alas! I cannot tell.

"I'll tell the truth to Muça, and I hope he will believe-
That I have thought of him at morning, and thought of him at eve;
That musing on my lover, when down the sun was gone,
His ear-rings in my hand I held, by the fountain all alone;
And that my mind was o'er the sea, when from my hand they fell,
And that deep his love lies in my heart, as they lie in the well."

J. G. LOCKHART.

TRI

43. THE RAINBOW.

TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part,

I ask not proud philosophy

To teach me what thou art.

Still seem as to my

childhood's sight

A midway station given,

For happy spirits to alight

Betwixt the earth and heaven.

Can all that optics teach, unfold
Thy form to please me so,
As when I dreamt of gems and gold
Hid in thy radiant bow?

When science from creation's face
Enchantment's veil withdraws,
What lovely visions yield their place
To cold material laws!

And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams,
But words of the Most High,
Have told why first thy robe of beams
Was woven in the sky.

When o'er the green undeluged earth
Heav'n's covenant thou didst shine,
How came the world's gray fathers forth
To watch thy sacred sign!

And when its yellow lustre smiled
O'er mountains yet untrod,

Each mother held aloft her child,

To bless the bow of God.