Enter thou in and here abide,

Thou Blessed of the Lord!

Why standest thou without, why roamst

abroad?

poor

And, turning from the toilsome road, Unto the door drew nigh.

ever!

And spread its scaly store;

She told them o'er and o'er.

But lightly laughed the young guidwife:
"We're no sae scarce o' cheer;
Tak' up your creel and gang your ways:
I'll buy nae fish sae dear.'

Bending beneath her load again,

A weary sight to see, Right sorely sighed the poor fishwife, They are dear fish to me.

"Our boat was oot ae fearfu' night;
And when the storm blew o'er,
My husband and my three brave sons
Lay corpses on the shore.

"I've been a wife for thirty years,

A childless widow three;

I maun buy them now to sell again : They are dear fish to me."

The farmer's wife turned to the door;
What was't upon her cheek?
What was there rising in her breast

That then she scarce could speak?

She thought upon her ain guidman,
Her lightsome laddies three;

The woman's words had pierced her heart: "They are dear fish to me."

"Come back," she cried, with quivering voice

And pity's gathering tear;

Come in, come in, my poor woman;
Ye're kindly welcome here.

"I kentna o' your aching heart,

Your weary lot to dree;

I'll ne'er forget your sad, sad words:
'They are dear fish to me.'

Ay, let the happy-hearted learn
To pause ere they deny

The meed of honest toil, and think
How much their gold may buy-

How much of manhood's wasted strength,
What woman's misery,

What breaking hearts might swell the cry, "They are dear fish to me."

WE

E. L. ROBINSON.

THE TEMPEST.

E were crowded in the cabin; Not a soul would dare to sleep: It was midnight on the waters, And a storm was on the deep.

'Tis a fearful thing in winter

To be shattered by the blast, And to hear the rattling trumpet Thunder, "Cut away the mast!"

So we shuddered there in silence,

For the stoutest held his breath While the hungry sea was roaring

And the breakers talked with Death.

As thus we sat in darkness,

Each one busy in his prayers, We are lost!" the captain shouted As he staggered down the stairs,

INNOCENT IMPOSTORS.

HOW long must women wish in vain

A constant love to find?

No art can fickle man retain,

Or fix a roving mind.

Yet fondly we ourselves deceive,
And empty hopes pursue;
Though false to others, we believe
They will to us prove true.

But oh, the torment to discern
A perjured lover gone,
And yet by sad experience learn
That we must still love on!

Down sank the bell with a gurgling sound;
The bubbles rose and burst around;
Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to

the rock

Won't bless the abbot of Aberbrothok."

Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away;
He scoured the seas for many a day,
And now, grown rich with plundered store,
He steers his course for Scotland's shore.

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky
They cannot see the sun on high;
The wind hath blown a gale all day;
At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the Rover takes his stand;
So dark it is they see no land.
Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising moon."

"Canst hear," said one, "the breakers' roar? For methinks we should be near the shore.""Now, where we are I cannot tell, But I wish I could hear the Inchcape bell."

They hear no sound; the swell is strong; Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along, Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock: "O Death! it is the Inchcape Rock."

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair; He cursed himself in his despair; The waves rush in on every side; The ship is sinking beneath the tide.

But even in his dying fear

One dreadful sound could the Rover hear-
A sound as if with the Inchcape bell
The devil below was ringing his knell.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

TO THE CUCKOO.

HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove,

Thou messenger of spring!

Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat
And woods thy welcome sing.

What time the daisy decks the green

Thy certain voice we hear:
Hast thou a star to guide thy path
Or mark the rolling year?

Delightful visitant, with thee

I hail the time of flowers,
And hear the sound of music sweet
From birds ainong the bowers.

The schoolboy, wandering through the wood
To pull the primrose gay,

Starts the new voice of spring to hear,
And imitates thy lay.

What time the pea puts on the bloom
Thou fliest thy vocal vale,
An annual guest in other lands,

Another spring to hail.