The garden border where I stood The dusk came down and sheltered me. And what is left that I should tell? One little instant they were mine! O life! how dear thou hast become ! JEAN INGELOW. SONG OF THE MILKMAID. FROM "QUEEN MARY." SHAME upon you, Robin, Shame upon you now! Kiss me would you? with my hands Daisies grow again, And you came and kissed me milking the cow. Robin came behind me, Kissed me well I vow; Cuff him could I? with my hands Milking the cow ? Swallows fly again, Cuckoos cry again, And you came and kissed me milking the cow.¦ Come, Robin, Robin, Come and kiss me now; Help it can I? with my hands Milking the cow ? Ringdoves coo again, All things woo again, Come behind and kiss me milking the cow! ALFRED TENNYSON. THE MILK MAID'S SONG. TURN, turn, for my cheeks they burn, He has turned by the dale, And there by the stile waits Harry. Wheugh, wheugh! he has whistled through, Low in the grass and high on the bough, O world, have you ever a lover? You were so dull and cold just now, O world, have you ever a lover? I could not see a leaf on the tree, And now I could count them, one, two, three, Count them over and over, Leaf from leaf like lips apart, Like lips apart for a lover. And the hillside beats with my beating heart, And the apple-tree blushes all over, He has jumped the brook, he has climbed the knowe, There's never a faster foot I know, But still he seems to tarry. O Harry! O Harry! my love, my pride, Come spring, come winter, come sun, come snow, Right or wrong, and wrong or right, We'll drink our can, we 'll eat our cake, EARLY on a sunny morning, while the lark was singing sweet, And the May bough touched me and made me | Came, beyond the ancient farm-house, sounds of lightly tripping feet. 'T was a lowly cottage maiden going, - why, let young hearts tell, With her homely pitcher laden, fetching water from the well. Shadows lay athwart the pathway, all along the quiet lane, And the breezes of the morning moved them to and fro again. O'er the sunshine, o'er the shadow, passed the maiden of the farm, With a charmed heart within her, thinking of no ill nor harın. Pleasant, surely, were her musings, for the nodding leaves in vain Sought to press their brightening image on her ever-busy brain. Leaves and joyous birds went by her, like a dim, half-waking dream; And her soul was only conscious of life's gladdest summer gleam. At the old lane's shady turning lay a well of water bright, Singing, soft, its hallelujah to the gracious morar ing light. Fern-leaves, broad and green, bent o'er it where its silvery droplets fell, And the fairies dwelt beside it, in the spotted foxglove bell. Back she bent the shading fern-leaves, dipt the pitcher in the tide, Drew it, with the dripping waters flowing o'er its glazed side. But before her arm could place it on her shiny, wavy hair, By her side a youth was standing! Love rejoiced to see the pair! Tones of tremulous emotion trailed upon the morning breeze, Gentle words of heart-devotion whispered 'neath the ancient trees. But the holy, blessed secrets it becomes me not to tell : Life had met another meaning, fetching water from the well! Down the rural lane they sauntered. He the burden-pitcher bore; She, with dewy eyes down looking, grew more beauteous than before! When they neared the silent homestead, up he raised the pitcher light; Like a fitting crown he placed it on her hair of wavelets bright : Emblems of the coming burdens that for love of him she'd bear, Calling every burden blessed, if his love but lighted there. Then, still waving benedictions, further, further off he drew, With hand on latch, a vision white The lamp's clear gleam flits up the stair; Ah, in that chamber, whose rich air "T is thirteen years: once more I press I hear, "Auf wiedersehen!" Sweet piece of bashful maiden art! The English words had seemed too fain, But these they drew us heart to heart, Yet held us tenderly apart; She said, "Auf wiedersehen!” JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL MEETING. THE gray sea, and the long black land; Then a mile of warm, sea-scented beach; ROBERT BROWNING. SWEET MEETING OF DESIRES. I GREW assured, before I asked, That she'd be mine without reserve, And in her unclaimed graces basked At leisure, till the time should serve, With just enough of dread to thrill The hope, and make it trebly dear : Till once, through lanes returning late, And what to say to Muça, I cannot, cannot tell." 'T was thus, Granada's fountain by, spoke Albuharez' daughter, "The well is deep, far down they lie, beneath the cold blue water. To me did Muça give them, when he spake his sad farewell, And what to say when he comes back, alas! I cannot tell. 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 morn, 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; My ear-rings! my ear-rings! they were pearls And that my mind was o'er the sea, when from in silver set, my hand they fell, That when my Moor was far away, I ne'er should And that deep his love lies in my heart, as they him forget, lie in the well." JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART. O SWALLOW, SWALLOW, FLYING FROM "THE PRINCESS," O SWALLOW, Swallow, flying, flying South, Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee. O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and glit. That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, tering sheen, And dark and true and tender is the North. The princess with that merry child Prince Guy: I thought it trembled as it lay in mine, SIDROC. lous tumbling, As though there were an ant-hill in my bosom. I said I was ashamed. - Sidroc, you smile; HENRY TAYLOR. SEVEN TIMES THREE. LOVE. I LEANED Out of window, I smelt the white clover, Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate; "Now, if there be footsteps, he comes, my one lover Hush, nightingale, hush! O sweet nightingale, wait Till I listen and hear "The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer, A cluster of stars hangs like fruit in the tree, The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer : To what art thou listening, and what dost thou see? Let the star-clusters glow, "You night-moths that hover where honey brims over From sycamore blossoms, or settle or sleep; You glow-worms, shine out, and the pathway discover To him that comes darkling along the rough steep. Ah, my sailor, make haste, "Too deep for swift telling; and yet, my one lover, I've conned thee an answer, it waits thee tonight." By the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover; Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight; But I'll love him more, more Be the days dark or bright. JEAN INGELOW. A SPINSTER'S STINT. SIX skeins and three, six skeins and three ! Stop, busy wheel! stop, noisy wheel! Long shadows down my chamber steal, And warn me to make haste and reel |