"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,* "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, 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, "An askin', an askin', my dear Lord John, "I grant, I grant your askins, Helen, "O, have thou comfort, fair Helen, And your bridal and your kirking baith And he has ta'en her Burd Helen, And there was ne'er a gayer bridegroom, As they, Lord John and Lady Helen, ANONYMOUS. She'll weep for naught for his dear sake;. She clasps her sister in her sleep; Her love in dreams is most awake. Is to love him for being wise. And, though discreet when he's away, She'll prattle like a child at play. 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, 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. BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms, Appears there naught for which to weep, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Like fairy-gifts fading away! Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou | The bride had consented, the gallant came late; art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, Ascend to heaven, in honor of my Love. Were I as high as heaven above the plain, Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies, Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you, JOSHUA SYLVESTER. And the bridemaidens whispered, ""T were better 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; 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; In courteous words returned reply; ALFRED TENNYSON. THE "SLEEPING BEAUTY" DEPARTS FROM THE DAY DREAM." And round her waist she felt it fold; In that new world which is the old. "O love, 't was such as this and this." And o'er them many a sliding star, And many a merry wind was borne, "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; "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." And silent was the flock in woolly fold: They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve, Numb were the beadman's fingers while he told And couch supine their beauties, lily white; His rosary, and while his frosted breath, Seemed taking flight for heaven without a death, Past the sweet virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith. For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes, Who keepeth closed a wondrous riddle-book, Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords, Whose very dogs would execrations howl Against his lineage; not one breast affords Him any mercy, in that mansion foul, As spectacled she sits in chimney nook. Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul. And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old. "I will not harm her, by all saints I swear!" "Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hilde- Quoth Porphyro; “O, may I ne'er find grace brand; He had a fever late, and in the fit He cursed thee and thine, both house and land; Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit More tame for his gray hairs - Alas me! flit ! Flit like a ghost away!". "Ah, gossip dear, We're safe enough; here in this arm-chair sit, And tell me how ". "Good saints, not here, not here; Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier." XIII. When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer, |