And long is the day

Ere home he can be;

But where'er his steed prances,

Amid thronging lances,

Sure he'll think of the glances

That love stole from me!

He is gone! he is gone!

Like the leaf from the tree;

But his heart is of stone

If it ne'er dream of me! For I dream of him ever: His buff-coat and beaver, And long sword, O, never Are absent from me!

THE FORESTER'S CAROL.

LUSTY Hearts! to the wood, to the merry green wood, While the dew with strung pearls loads each blade, And the first blush of dawn brightly streams o'er the lawn,

Like the smile of a rosy-cheeked maid.

Our horns with wild music ring glad through each shaw,

And our broad arrows rattle amain ;

For the stout bows we draw, to the green woods give

law,

And the Might is the Right once again!

Mark yon herds, as they brattle and brush down the glade;

Pick the fat, let the lean rascals go,

Under favor 't is meet that we tall men should eat,

Nock a shaft and strike down that proud doe!

Well delivered, parfay! convulsive she leaps, -
One bound more, then she drops on her side;
Our steel hath bit smart the life-strings of her heart,
And cold now lies the green forest's pride.

Heave her up, and away! — should any base churl Dare to ask why we range in this wood,

There's a keen arrow yare, in each broad belt to

spare,

That will answer the knave in his blood!

Then forward, my Hearts! like the bold reckless breeze

Our life shall whirl on in mad glee;

The long bows we bend, to the world's latter end, Shall be borne by the hands of the Free!

MAY MORN SONG.

THE grass is wet with shining dews,
Their silver bells hang on each tree,
While opening flower and bursting bud
Breathe incense forth unceasingly;
The mavis pipes in greenwood shaw,
The throstle glads the spreading thorn,
And cheerily the blythesome lark
Salutes the rosy face of morn.

'T is early prime;

And hark! hark! hark!

His merry chime

Chirrups the lark :

Chirrup! chirrup! he heralds in

The jolly sun with matin hymn.

Come, come, my love! und May-dews shake
In pailfuls from each drooping bough;
They 'll give fresh lustre to the bloom,
That breaks upon thy young cheek now.

O'er hill and dale, o'er waste and wood
Aurora's smiles are streaming free;

With earth it seems brave holyday,
In heaven it looks high jubilee.

And it is right,

For mark, love, mark!

How bathed in light

Chirrups the lark :

Chirrup! chirrup! he upward flics,
Like holy thoughts to cloudless skies.

They lack all heart, who cannot feel

The voice of heaven within them thrill,
In summer morn, when mounting high
This merry minstrel sings his fill.
Now let us seck yon bosky dell

Where brightest wild-flowers choose to be,

And where its clear stream murmurs on,

Meet type of our love's purity;

No witness there,

And o'er us hark!

High in the air

Chirrups the lark :

Chirrup! chirrup! away soars he,

Bearing to heaven my vows to thee!