And win perhaps that night a peerless bride,
While legioned fairies paced the coverlet,
And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed.
Never on such a night have lovers met,

Since Merlin paid his demon all the monstrous debt.
"It shall be as thou wishest," said the dame;
"All cates and dainties shall be stored there
Quickly on this feast-night; by the tambour frame
Her own lute thou wilt see; no time to spare,
For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare
On such a catering trust my dizzy head.

Wait here, my child, with patience kneel in prayer
The while. Ah! thou must needs the lady wed,
Or may I never leave my grave among the dead."

So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear.
The lover's endless minutes slowly passed:
The dame returned, and whispered in his ear
To follow her; with aged eyes aghast
From fright of dim espial. Safe at last,
Through many a dusky gallery, they gain
The maiden's chamber, silken, hushed and chaste;
Where Porphyro took covert, pleased amain.
His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain.

Her faltering hand upon the balustrade,
Old Angela was feeling for the stair,
When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmèd maid,
Rose, like a missioned spirit, unaware;
With silver taper's light, and pious car
She turned, and down the aged gossip led
To a safe level matting. Now prepare,
Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed!

Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,
And on her silver cross soft amethyst,
And on her hair a glory, like a saint;
She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest,
Save wings, for heaven. Porphyro grew faint:
She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal ta
Anon his heart revives; her vespers done,
Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees:
Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;
Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degrees
Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees;
Half hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed,
Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees,
In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed,

But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.
Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest,
In sort of wakeful swoon, perplexed she lay,
Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppressed
Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away;
Flown like a thought, until the morrow-day;
Blissfully havened both from joy and pain;
Clasped like a missal where swart Paynims pray;
Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain,
As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.
Stolen to this paradise, and so entranced,
Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress,
And listened to her breathing, if it chanced
To wake into a slumberous tenderness:
Which when he heard, that minute did he bless,
And breathed himself; then from the closet crept,
Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness,

And over the hushed carpet, silent, stept,

Out went the taper as she hurried in ;

Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died;
She closed the door, she panted, all akin
To spirits of the air, and visions wide;
No uttered syllable, or, woe betide!
But to her heart, her heart was voluble,
Paining with eloquence her balmy side;
As though a tongueless nightingale should swell
Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled in her dell.

A casement high and triple-arched there was,
All garlanded with carven imageries

Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass,
And diamonded with panes of quaint device,
Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes,
As are the tiger-moth's deep-damasked wings;
And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries,
And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings,

she slept.

Then by the bedside, where the faded moon
Made a dim, silver twilight soft he set

A table, and, half anguished, threw thereon
A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet :-
O for some drowsy morphean amulet !
The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion,
The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet,
Affray his ears, though but in dying tone :—
The hall-door shuts again, and all the noise is gone

And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,
In blanched linen, smooth, and lavendered;
While he from forth the closet brought a heap
Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd;
With jellies soother than the creamy curd,
And lucent syrups, tinct with cinamon;
Manna and dates, in argosy transferred
From Fez; and spicéd dainties, every one,

Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon;

These delicates he heaped with glowing hand
On golden dishes and in baskets bright
Of wreathed silver. Sumptuous they stand
In the retired quiet of the night.

Would that breast were bared before thee

Where thy head so oft hath lain,
While the placid sleep came o'er thee
Which thou ne'er canst know again:

Would that breast, by thee glanced over,
Every inmost thought could show!
Then thou wouldst at last discover
'T was not well to spurn it so.

Though the world for this commend thee-
Though it smile upon the blow,
Even its praises must offend thee,

Founded on another's woe:

Though my many faults defaced me,
Could no other arm be found

Than the one which once embraced me,
To inflict a cureless wound?

Yet, O, yet thyself deceive not;

Love may sink by slow decay; But by sudden wrench, believe not Hearts can thus be torn away: Still thine own its life retaine th

Still must mine, though bleeding beat;
And the undying thought which paineth
Is-that we no more may meet.

These are words of deeper sorrow
Than the wail above the dead;
Both shall live, but every morrow
Wake us from a widowed bed.
And when thou wouldst solace gather,
When our child's first accents flow,
Wilt thou teach her to say "Father!"
Though his care she must forego!

When her little hands shall press thee,
When her lip to thine is pressed,
Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,
Think of him thy love had blessed!

Should her lineaments resemble

Those thou nevermore mayst see,
Then thy heart will softly tremble
With a pulse yet true to me.

All my faults perchance thou knowest,
All my madness none can know;
All my hopes, whene'er thou goest,
Whither, yet with thee they go.
Every feeling hath been shaken;
Pride, which not a world could bow,
Bows to thee-by thee forsaken,

Even my soul forsakes me now;
But 't is done; all words are idle-
Words from me are vainer still;
But the thoughts we cannot bridle

Force their way without the will.

Fare thee well!-thus disunited,
Torn from every nearer tie,
Seared in heart and lone, and blighted,
More than this I scarce can die.

a

LORD BYRON.

BLACK-EYED SUSAN.

LL in the Downs the fleet was moored,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came aboard;
"O, where shall I my true love find?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true
If my sweet William sails among the crew."
William, who high upon the yard

Rocked with the billow to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard
He sighed, and cast his eyes below:
The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,
And quick as lightning on the deck he stands

So the sweet lark, high poised in air,

Shuts close his pinions to his breast
If chance his mate's shrill call he hear,
And drops at once into her nest :--
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet

"O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

My vows shall ever true remain; Let me kiss off that falling tear;

We only part to meet again.

Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee. "Believe not what the landmen say

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind: They'll tell thee, sailors when away,

In every port a mistress find ·

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For Thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

'If to fair India's coast we sail,

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,

Thy skin is ivory so white.

Thus every beauteous object that I view Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. "Though battle call me from thy arms,

Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms
William shall to his dear return.

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye."
The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The sails their swelling bosom spread ;
No longer must she stay aboard:

They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head. Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land; "Adieu!" she cried; and waved her lily hand. JOHN GAY.

THE BLOOM WAS ON THE ALDER AND THE TASSEL ON THE CORN.

HEARD the bob-white whistle in the dewy

breath of morn;

The bloom was on the alder and the tassel on the corn.

I stood with beating heart beside the babbling Mac-ochee,

To see my love come down the glen to keep her tryst with me.

I saw her pace, with quiet grace, the shaded path along,

And pause to pluck a flower, or hear the thrush's song. Denied by her proud father as a suitor to be seen, She came to me, with loving trust, my gracious little queen.

Above my station, heaven knows, that gentle maiden shone,

For she was belle and wide beloved, and I a youth unknown.

The rich and great about rer thronged, and sought on bended knee

For love this gracious princess gave, with all her heart, to me.

So like a startled fawn before my longing eyes she stood,

With all the freshness of a girl in flush of womanhood.

I trembled as I put my arm about her form divine, And stammered, as in awkward speech, I begged her

to be mine.

Tis sweet to hear the pattering rain, that lulls a dimlit dream

'Tis sweet to hear the song of birds, and sweet the rippling stream;

'Tis sweet amid the mountain pines to hear the south winds sigh,

More sweet than these and all beside was the loving, low reply.

The little hand I held in mine held all I had of life, To mold its better destiny and soothe to sleep its strife.

Tis said that angels watch o'er men, commissioned from above;

My angel walked with me on earth, and gave to me her love.

Ah! dearest wife, my heart is stirred, my eyes are dim with tears

I think upon the loving faith of all these bygone

years,

For now we stand upon this spot, as in that dewy

morn,

With the bloom upon the alder and the tassel on the

corn.

DON PIATT.

HE heath this night must be my bed,
The bracken curtain for my head,
My lullaby the warder's tread,

Far, far from love and thee, Mary:
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid
My couch may be my bloody plaid,
My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid!
It will not waken me, Mary!

I may not, dare not, fancy now
The grief that clouds thy lovely brow,
I dare not think upon thy vow,
And all it promised me, Mary.
No fond regret must Norman know;
When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe,
His heart must be like bender bow,
His foot like arrow free, Mary.

A time will come with feeling fraught!
For, if I fall in battle fought,
Thy hapless lover's dying thought

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary.
And if returned from conquered foes,
How blithely will the evening close,
How sweet the linnet sing repose,
To my young bride and me, Mary!
SIR WALTER SCOTT.

W

WE PARTED IN SILENCE

E parted in silence, we parted by night,
On the banks of that lonely river;
Where the fragrant limes their bough
unite,

We met and we parted forever!

The night-bird sung, and the stars above
Told many a touching story,

Of friends long passed to the kingdom of love,
Where the soul wears its mantle of glory.

We parted in silence-our cheeks were wet
With the tears that were past controlling ;
We vowed we would never, no, never forget,
And those vows at the time were consoling;
But those lips that echoed the sounds of mine
Are as cold as that lonely river;
And that eye, that beautiful spirit's shrine,
Has shrouded its fires forever.
And now on the midnight sky I look,
And my heart grows full of weeping;
Each star is to me a sealed book,

Some tale of that loved one keeping.
We parted in silence-we parted in tears,
On the banks of that lonely river;

But the odor and bloom of those bygone years Shall hang o'er its waters forever.

JULIA CRAWFord.

LOVE AND TIME.

'WO pilgrims from the distant plain
Come quickly o'er the mossy ground.
One is a boy, with locks of gold
Thick curling round his face so fair;
The other pilgrim, stern and old,

Has snowy beard and silver hair.

The youth with many a merry trick
Goes singing on his careless way;
His old companion walks as quick,

But speaks no word by night or day.
Where'er the old man treads, the grass

Fast fadeth with a certain doom;
But where the beauteous boy doth pass
Unnumbered flowers are seen to bloom.

And thus before the sage, the boy

Trips lightly o'er the blooming lands,
And proudly bears a pretty toy—
A crystal glass with diamond sands.
A smile o'er any brow would pass
To see him frolic in the sun—
To see him shake the crystal glass,
And make the sands more quickly run.

And now they leap the streamlet o'er,

A silver thread so white and thin, And now they reach the open door, And now they lightly enter in : "God save all here"-that kind wish flies Still sweeter from his lips so sweet; "God save you kindly," Norah cries,

Sit down, my child, and rest and eng."

“Thanks, gentle Norah, fair and good,
We'll rest awhile our weary feet;
But though this old man needeth food,
There's nothing here that he can eat.
His taste is strange, he eats afone,

Beneath some ruined cloister's cope,
Or on some tottering turret's stone,
While I can only live on hope!

“ A week ago, ere you were wedIt was the very night before— Upon so many sweets I fed

While passing by your mother's doorIt was that dear, delicious hour

When Owen here the nosegay brought, And found you in the woodbine bowerSince then, indeed, I've needed naught.”

A blush steals over iNorah's face,

A smile comes over Owen's brow,
A tranquil joy illumes the place,

As if the moon were shining now;
The boy beholds the pleasing pain,
The sweet confusion he has done,
And shakes the crystal glass again,
And makes the sands more quickly run.

"Dear Norah, we are pilgrims, bound

Upon an endless path sublime;
We pace the green earth round and round,
And mortals call us LOVE and TIME;
He seeks the many, I the few;

I dwell with peasants, he with kings.
We seldom meet; but when we do,
I take his glass, and he my wings.
"And thus together on we go,

Where'er I chance or wish to lead;
And time, whose lonely steps are slow,
Now sweeps along with lightning speed
Now on our bright predestined way

We must to other regions pass;
But take this gift, and night and day
Look well upon its truthful glass.
"How quick or slow the bright sands fall
Is hid from lovers' eyes alone,

If you can see them move at all,

Be sure your heart has colder grown.
'Tis coldness makes the glass grow dry,
The icy hand, the freezing brow;
But warm the heart and breathe the sigh,
And then they'll pass you know not how."
She took the glass where love's warm hands
A bright impervious vapor cast,
She looks, but cannot see the sands,

Although she feels they're falling fast.
But cold hours came, and then, alas !

She saw them falling frozen through,
Till love's warm light suffused the glass,
And hid the loosening sands from view!
DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY