young lord-lover, what sighs are those

For one that will never be thine?

But mine, but mine,' so I sware to the rose, 'For ever and ever, mine.'

And the soul of the rose went into my blood,

As the music clash'd in the hall;

And long by the garden lake I stood,
For I heard your rivulet fall

From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,
Our wood, that is dearer than all;

From the meadow your walks have left so sweet That whenever a March-wind sighs

He sets the jewel-print of your feet

In violets blue as your eyes,
To the woody hollows in which we meet
And the valleys of Paradise.

The slender acacia would not shake

One long milk-bloom on the tree;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
Knowing your promise to me;

The lilies and roses were all awake,

They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Come hither, the dances are done,
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one;

Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls.
To the flowers, and be their sun.

There has fallen a splendid tear

From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate;

The red rose cries, She is near, she is near;

And the white rose weeps, 'She is late;' The larkspur listens, I hear, I hear;' And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'

She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.

709

O that 'twere possible

THAT 'twere possible
After long grief and pain

To find the arms of my true love
Round me once again!

A shadow flits before me,
Not thou, but like to thee:

Ah, Christ! that it were possible

For one short hour to see

The souls we loved, that they might tell us
What and where they be!

710.

RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES,

LORD HOUGHTON

Shadows

1809-1885

THEY

HEY seem'd, to those who saw them meet,
The casual friends of every day;

Her smile was undisturb'd and sweet,
His courtesy was free and gay.

But yet if one the other's name
In some unguarded moment heard,
The heart you thought so calm and tame
Would struggle like a captured bird:

And letters of mere formal phrase

Were blister'd with repeated tears,— And this was not the work of days, But had gone on for years and years

Alas, that love was not too strong
For maiden shame and manly pride!
Alas, that they delay'd so long

The goal of mutual bliss beside!

Yet what no chance could then reveal,
And neither would be first to own,

Let fate and courage now conceal,
When truth could bring remorse alone.

!

711.

'R

HENRY ALFORD

ISE,' said the

The Bride

1810-1871

Master, 'come unto the feast.' She heard the call and rose with willing feet;

But thinking it not otherwise than meet

For such a bidding to put on her best,
She is gone from us for a few short hours
Into her bridal closet, there to wait

For the unfolding of the palace gate

That gives her entrance to the blissful bowers.
We have not seen her yet, though we have been
Full often to her chamber door, and oft
Have listen'd underneath the postern green,

And laid fresh flowers, and whisper'd short and soft.
But she hath made no answer, and the day
From the clear west is fading fast away.

712.

SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON

Cean Dubh Deelish

PUT your head, darling, darling, darling,

1810-1886

Your darling black head my heart above;
O mouth of honey, with thyme for fragrance,
Who, with heart in breast, could deny you love?
O many and many a young girl for me is pining,
Letting her locks of gold to the cold wind free,
For me, the foremost of our gay young fellows;
But I'd leave a hundred, pure love, for thee!

712. Cean dubh deelish] darling black head.

Then put your head, darling, darling, darling,
Your darling black head my heart above;
O mouth of honey, with thyme for fragrance,
Who, with heart in breast, could deny you love?

713.

Cashel of Munster

FROM THE IRISH

I'D wed you without herds, without money or rich array,
And I'd wed you on a dewy morn at day-dawn gray;
My bitter woe it is, love, that we are not far away
In Cashel town, tho' the bare deal board were our marriage-
bed this day!

O fair maid, remember the green hill-side,

Remember how I hunted about the valleys wide;

Time now has worn me; my locks are turn'd to gray; The year is scarce and I am poor-but send me not, love, away!

O deem not my blood is of base strain, my girl;

O think not my birth was as the birth of a churl;
Marry me and prove me, and say soon you will
That noble blood is written on my right side still.

My purse holds no red gold, no coin of the silver white;
No herds are mine to drive through the long twilight;
But the pretty girl that would take me, all bare tho' I be
and lone,

O, I'd take her with me kindly to the county Tyrone!

O my girl, I can see 'tis in trouble you are;
And O my girl, I see 'tis your people's reproach you bear!
-I am a girl in trouble for his sake with whom I fly,
And, O, may no other maiden know such reproach as I!