Dear, I heard thee in the spring,
Thee and Robert-through the trees,-
When we all went gathering

Boughs of May-bloom for the bees.
Do not start so! think instead
How the sunshine overhead
Seem'd to trickle through the shade.

What a day it was, that day!

Hills and vales did openly
Seem to heave and throb away,

At the sight of the great sky;
And the silence, as it stood
In the glory's golden flood,
Audibly did bud-and bud!

Through the winding hedgerows green,
How we wander'd, I and you,—
With the bowery tops shut in,

And the gates that show'd the view—
How we talk'd there! thrushes soft
Sang our pauses out,-or oft
Bleatings took them, from the croft.

Till the pleasure, grown too strong,
Left me muter evermore;
And, the winding road being long,

I walk'd out of sight, before;
And so, wrapt in musings fond,
Issued (past the wayside pond)
On the meadow-lands beyond.

I sat down beneath the beech

Which leans over to the lane,
And the far sound of your speech
Did not promise any pain;
And I bless'd you full and free,
With a smile stoop'd tenderly
O'er the May-flowers on my knee.

But the sound grew into word

As the speakers drew more near-
Sweet, forgive me that I heard

What you wish'd me not to hear.
Do not weep so-do not shake-
Oh, I heard thee, Bertha, make
Good true answers for my sake.

Yes, and he too! let him stand

In thy thoughts, untouch'd by blame. Could he help it, if my hand

He had claim'd with hasty claim!
That was wrong perhaps-but then
Such things be-and will, again!
Women cannot judge for men.

Had he seen thee, when he swore
He would love but me alone?
Thou wert absent-sent before

To our kin in Sidmouth town.
When he saw thee, who art best
Past compare, and loveliest,
He but judged thee as the rest.

Could we blame him with grave words,
Thou and I, dear, if we might?
Thy brown eyes have looks like birds
Flying straightway to the light;

Mine are older.-Hush!-look outUp the street! Is none without ? How the poplar swings about!

And that hour-beneath the beech-
When I listen'd in a dream,
And he said, in his deep speech,

That he owed me all esteem-
Each word swam in on my brain
With a dim, dilating pain,

Till it burst with that last strain

I fell flooded with a dark,

In the silence of a swoonWhen I rose, still, cold and stark, There was night-I saw the moon: And the stars, each in its place, And the May-blooms on the grass, Seem'd to wonder what I was.

And I walk'd as if apart

From myself when I could stand— And I pitied my own heart, As if I held it in my handSomewhat coldly-with a sense Of fulfill'd benevolence, And a "Poor thing" negligence.

And I answer'd coldly too,

When you met me at the door; And I only heard the dew Dripping from me to the floor; And the flowers I bade you see, Were too wither'd for the beeAs my life, henceforth, for me.

Do not weep so-dear-heart-warm! It was best as it befell!

If I say he did me harm,

I speak wild-I am not well.
All his words were kind and good-
He esteem'd me! Only blood
Runs so faint in womanhood.

Then I always was too grave—

Liked the saddest ballads sung-
With that look, besides, we have
In our faces, who die young.

I had died, dear, all the same-
Life's long, joyous, jostling game
Is too loud for my meek shame.

We are so unlike each other,
Thou and I; that none could guess
We were children of one mother,
But for mutual tenderness.
Thou art rose-lined from the cold,
And meant, verily, to hold
Life's pure pleasures manifold.

I am pale as crocus grows

Close beside a rose-tree's root! Whosoe'er would reach the rose, Treads the crocus underfootI, like May-bloom on thorn treeThou, like merry summer-bee! Fit, that I be pluck'd for thee.

Yet who plucks me ?-no one mourns-
I have lived my season out-
And now die of my own thorns
Which I could not live without.
Sweet, be merry! How the light
Comes and goes! If it be night,
Keep the candles in my sight.

Are there footsteps at the door?

Look out quickly. Yea or nay?
Some one might be waiting for

Some last word that I might say.
Nay? So best!-So angels would
Stand off clear from deathly road-
Not to cross the sight of God.

Colder grow my hands and feet

When I wear the shroud I made,
Let the folds lie straight and neat,
And the rosemary be spread-
That if any friend should come
(To see thee, sweet!), all the room
May be lifted out of gloom.

And, dear Bertha, let me keep

On my hand this little ring,
Which at nights, when others sleep
I can still see glittering.
Let me wear it out of sight,
In the grave-where it will light
All the dark up, day and night.

On that grave, drop not a tear!

Else, though fathom-deep the place,
Through the woollen shroud I wear
I shall feel it on my face.

Rather smile there, blessed one,
Thinking of me in the sun-
Or forget me-smiling on!

Art thou near me? nearer ? so!
Kiss me close upon the eyes,
That the earthly light may go
Sweetly as it used to rise-
When I watch'd the morning gray
Strike, betwixt the hills, the way
He was sure to come that day.
So-no more vain words be said!
The hosannahs nearer roll-
Mother, smile now on thy dead-
I am death-strong in my soul !
Mystic Dove alit on cross,
Guide the poor bird of the snows
Through the snow-wind above loss!

Jesus, Victim, comprehending

Love's divine self-abnegation-
Cleanse my love in its self-spending,
And absorb the poor libation!
Wind my thread of life up higher,
Up through angels' hands of fire!-
I aspire while I expire!-

Mrs. Browning.-Born 1809, Died 1861.

1562.-THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN
MOORE.

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the rampart we hurried:
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.

We buried him darkly at dead of night,

The sods with our bayonets turning;
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast,

Nor in sheet or in shroud we bound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.

Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow,

But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,

And we bitterly thought on the morrow.

We thought, as we hollow'd his narrow bed,
And smoothed down his lonely pillow,
That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er
his head,

And we far away on the billow.
Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him;
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

But half of our heavy task was done,

When the clock struck the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone,

But we left him alone with his glory!

Charles Wolfe.-Born 1791, Died 1823.

1563.-THE DEATH OF MARY.

If I had thought thou couldst have died,
I might not weep for thee;

But I forgot, when by thy side,
That thou couldst mortal be;

It never through my mind had pass'd,
That time would e'er be o'er-
When I on thee should look my last,
And thou shouldst smile no more.

And still upon that face I look,

And think 'twill smile again;

And still the thought I will not brook,
That I must look in vain;

But when I speak thou dost not say
What thou ne'er left'st unsaid;
And now I feel, as well I may,
Sweet Mary, thou art dead.

If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art,
All cold and all serene,

I still might press thy silent heart,
And where thy smile has been;
While e'en thy chill bleak corse I have,
Thou seemest still mine own,
But there I lay thee in the grave.
And now-I am alone.

I do not think, where'er thou art,
Thou hast forgotten me;

And I perhaps may soothe this heart
In thinking still of thee!

Yet there was round thee such a dawn
Of light ne'er seen before,

As fancy never could have drawn,
And never can restore.

Charles Wolfe.-Born 1791, Died 1823.

1564.-SONG.

O say not that my heart is cold

To aught that once could warm it-
That Nature's form, so dear of old,

No more has power to charm it;
Or that the ungenerous world can chill
One glow of fond emotion
For those who made it dearer still,
And shared my wild devotion.

Still oft those solemn scenes I view
In rapt and dreamy sadness-
Oft look on those who loved them too,
With fancy's idle gladness;
Again I long'd to view the light

In Nature's features glowing,
Again to tread the mountain's height,
And taste the soul's o'erflowing.

Stern Duty rose, and, frowning, flung
His leaden chain around me;
With iron look and sullen tongue
He mutter'd as he bound me,-
"The mountain breeze, the boundless
heaven,

Unfit for toil the creature;

These for the free alone are given

But what have slaves with Nature?"

Charles Wolfe.-Born 1791, Died 1823.

1565.-THE BATTLE OF IVRY.

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are!

And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre!

Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance,

Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, O pleasant land of France!

And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters,

Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters.

As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in

our joy,

For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy.

Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turn'd the chance of war,

Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and King Henry of Navarre !

Oh! how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day,

We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array;

With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers,

And Appenzell's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears.

There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land!

And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand;

And, as we look'd on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood,

And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood;

And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war,

To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre.

The king is come to marshal us, in all his armour drest;

And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest.

He look'd upon his people, and a tear was in

his eye;

He look'd upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high.

Right graciously he smiled on us, as roll'd from wing to wing,

Down all our line, a deafening shout, "God save our lord the King."

"And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full

well he may

For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray

Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war,

And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre."

Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the

mingled din

Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and

roaring culverin!

The fiery Duke is pricking fast across St. André's plain,

With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.

Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentle

men of France,

Charge for the golden lilies now-upon them with the lance!

Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale;

The field is heap'd with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail.

And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van,

"Remember St. Bartholomew!" was pass'd from man to man;

But out spake gentle Henry, "No Frenchman is my foe:

Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go."

Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war,

As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre !

Ho! maidens of Vienna ! Ho! matrons of Lucerne !

Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return.

Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles,

That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls!

Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright!

Ho! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night!

For our God hath crush'd the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave,

And mock'd the counsel of the wise, and the valour of the brave.

Then glory to His holy name, from whom all

Turn'd, sickening; and the mother from her child.

On the new bride the bridegroom stared aghast;
She upon him, and lifted up her hands,
As at a serpent. Israel's sons alone-
So was the hand of God made manifest-
Walk'd through the tainted air, and knew no
spot.

But Pharaoh still was hardened in his pride
And would not let the oppress'd people go.-
Then the seventh time the chosen leader came,
And spake unto the king :-"O hard of heart!
And blind in unbelief! not yet seest thou
That Israel's God is Lord of all the earth?
Six plagues have come on thee, and all the
land:

Yea, do ye stink with very loathsomeness-
Wilt thou yet strive against the living God?
And wilt thou yet his chosen nation vex
With stripes, and bondage, and task-masters
hard?

Or wilt thou let them go from out the land,
That they may sacrifice unto their God;
Even to Jehovah in the wilderness ?"

The awful prophet ceased; and thus the king,

With brow like night, and eye-balls flashing fire,

Upstarting from his golden throne, replied:
"Slave and magician! no, they shall not go!—
Who is your God, that I should be afraid
And hearken to his voice ?-I know him not!-
Neither shall Israel go. The things thou

didst,

Did not our sorcerers also-or in part-
Even in thy sight?-yet prate they of their
God?

What art thou but a blacker sorcerer ?
Or who thy God but him they also serve?-
When from thy rod a living serpent came,
Cast they not also every man his rod
That turn'd into a serpent ?-When to blood
Thy spells had changed the waters, play'd not
they

The cunning trick as well?-And for thy frogs, Brought they not forth the loathsome reptiles too ?

And comest thou here to boast of Israel's
God-

Their God alone ?-and say unto the king,
'Let go thy bondsmen now from out the land
That they may sacrifice unto the Lord ?'-
Who then is Israel's God? I know him not!-
And Israel shall not go.-And who art thou
That I should hearken thee, and lift not up
My hand to punish? Tell me whence thou art,
And show a sign that I may truly know
If your Jehovah be the God indeed,
Israel his people, and his prophet thou."—

Then Moses lifted up his hands and spake : "O! harder than the millstone! askest thou A sign that God is God, and Israel

His people chosen? Six signs hast thou had, Yet not believed; and the seventh will see,

And harden yet thy heart, and heavier task
The groaning people, and not let them go;
But, at the last, thyself shall send them forth,
And own, in tears, that Israel's God is God.
But hearken to me now, and I will tell
Both whence I come, and by what sign I know
That I indeed the prophet of the Lord
Am chosen to this work. On Horeb's mount,
The holy hill, my father Jethro's flocks
I led to pasture. Suddenly, behold!
A bush, and in the midst a flame of fire;
A fierce flame, yet the bush was unconsumed:
And in the fire the angel of the Lord
Appeared unto me! Trembling I went back,
And turn'd aside, that I this wondrous sight
Might see, and why the bush was unconsumed;
But, from the fire, I heard the voice of God,
That called my name; and, fearing, I replied-
'Here am I'-Then He spake again, and
said,

'Draw not nigh hither; put thy shoes aside
From off thy feet, for where thou standest now
Is holy ground. I am thy father's God,
The God of Abraham, and Isaac's God,
The God of Jacob.'-Then I hid my eyes,
Lest I should look upon the face of God.
And the Lord said, 'I surely have beheld
Th' afflictions of my people, and have heard
Their cry, by reason of their task-masters;
For I do know their sorrows, and am come
From the Egyptians to deliver them,
And bring them from that land unto a land
Therefore
Flowing with milk and honey.

come,

And I will send thee unto Pharaoh now, That thou my chosen people may'st bring forth,

The children of Israel, from Egyptian bonds.'

"Then I bow'd down, and said unto the Lord,

'Who am I that to Pharaoh I should go ?And to the men of Israel when I come,

And say unto them "Lo! your fathers' God Hath sent me to you," if perchance they ask "What is his name?" how shall I answer them?'

Then spake the Almighty. 'I AM THAT I

AM!

Thus to the children of Israel shalt thou say,

"I AM hath sent me to you, the Lord God,
Your father's God, the God of Abraham,
The God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob,
Even he hath sent me to you;" this my

name

For ever, my memorial to all nations.
Go, gather now the elders of Israel,
And say to them, "The God of Abraham,
The God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob,
Appear'd unto me saying:-Surely I
Have seen that which is done to you in Egypt;
And I will bring you out from your affliction
Unto a land, a good land, and a large,
Flowing with milk and honey." Then go ye—
Thou and the elders-to the king, and say,