FAIR INES.

I.

O SAW ye not fair Ines?

She's gone into the West,

To dazzle when the sun is down,

And rob the world of rest:

She took our daylight with her,

The smiles that we love best,

With morning blushes on her cheek,
And pearls upon her breast.

II.

O turn again, fair Ines,

Before the fall of night,

For fear the moon should shine alone,

And stars unrivall'd bright;

And blessed will the lover be

That walks beneath their light,

And breathes the love against thy cheek

I dare not even write!

III.

Would I had been, fair Ines,

That gallant cavalier,

Who rode so gaily by thy side,

And whisper'd thee so near!

Were there no bonny dames at home,

Or no true lovers here,

That he should cross the seas to win
The dearest of the dear?

She went away with song,

With Music waiting on her steps,

And shoutings of the throng;

But some were sad and felt no mirth,
But only Music's wrong,

In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell,

To her you've loved so long.

VI.

Farewell, farewell, fair Ines,

That vessel never bore
So fair a lady on its deck,
Nor danced so light before,—
Alas for pleasure on the sea,
And sorrow on the shore !

The smile that blest one lover's heart
Has broken many more!

BALLAD.

SPRING it is cheery,
Winter is dreary,

Green leaves hang, but the brown must fly; When he's forsaken,

Wither'd and shaken,

What can an old man do but die?

Love will not clip him,

Maids will not lip him, Maud and Marian pass him by; Youth it is sunny,

Age has no honey,—

What can an old man do but die ?

June it was jolly,

O for its folly!

A dancing leg and a laughing eye;
Youth may be silly,

Wisdom is chilly,—

What can an old man do but die ?

Friends they are scanty,
Beggars are plenty,

If he has followers, I know why;

Gold's in his clutches

(Buying him crutches!)

What can an old man do but die ?

RUTH.

SHE stood breast high amid tne corn,
Clasp'd by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.

On her cheek an autumn flush

Deeply ripened ;-such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.

Round her eyes her tresses fell,
Which were blackest none could tell,
But long lashes veil'd a light,
That had else been all too bright.

And her hat, with shady brim,
Made her tressy forehead dim;—
Thus she stood amid the stooks,
Praising God with sweetest looks :—

Sure, I said, heav'n did not mean,
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean,
Lay thy sheaf adown and come,
Share my harvest and my home.

AUTUMN.

THE Autumn is old,
The sere leaves are flying;-
He hath gather'd up gold,
And now he is dying ;
Old age, begin sighing!

The vintage is ripe,
The harvest is heaping;
But some that have sow'd
Have no riches for reaping ;-
Poor wretch, fall a weeping!

The year's in the wane,
There is nothing adorning ;-
The night has no eve,

And the day has no morning ;-
Cold winter gives warning.

The rivers run chill,

The red sun is sinking,

And I am grown old,

And life is fast shrinking;

Here's enow for sad thinking!