And bending back her head, looked up, And gazed upon my face.

'T was partly love, and partly fear, And partly 't was a bashful art, That I might rather feel, than see,

The swelling of her heart.

I calmed her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin pride;
And so I won my Genevieve,

My bright and beauteous bride.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

ZARA'S EAR-RINGS.

My ear-rings! my ear-rings! they've dropped into the well,

And what to say to Muça, I cannot, cannot tell

'T was thus, Granada's fountain by, spoke Albuharez' daughter:

The well is deep-far down they lie, beneath the cold blue water;

T: me did Muça give them, when he spake his sad farewell,

And what to say when he comes back, alas! I cannot tell.

My ear-rings! my ear-rings!-they were pearls in silver set,

That, when my Moor was far away, I ne'er should him forget;

That I ne'er to other tongues should list, nor smile on other's tale,

But remember he my lips had kissed, pure as

those ear-rings pale.

When he comes back, and hears that I have dropped them in the well,

Oh! what will Muça think of me?—I cannot, cannot tell!

My ear-rings! my ear-rings!--he'll say they should have been,

Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and glittering sheen,

Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shining clear,

Changing to the changing light, with radiance insincere;

That changeful mind unchanging gems are not befitting well,

Thus will he think-and what to say, alas I cannot tell.

He'll think, when I to market went I loitered by the way;

He'll think a willing ear I lent to all the lads might say;

He'll think some other lover's hand, among my tresses noosed,

From the ears where he had placed them my rings of pearl unloosed;

He'll think when I was sporting so beside his marble well

My pearls fell in-and what to say, alas! 1 'cannot tell.

Once making a journey

To Santa Maria

Of Calataveño,

From weary desire

Of sleep, down a valley

I strayed, where young Rosa

I saw, the milk-maiden
Of lone Finojosa.

In a pleasant green meadow,
'Midst roses and grasses,
Her herd she was tending.
With other fair lasses;
So lovely her aspect,
I could not suppose her
A simple milk-maiden
Of rude Finojosa.

I think not primroses

Have half her smile's sweetness,
Or mild, modest beauty;

I speak with discreetness.

Oh, had I beforehand

But known of this Rosa,
The lovely milk-maiden
Of fair Finojosa!

Her very great beauty
Had not so subdued,
Because it had left me,

To do as I would.

I have said more, O fair one,
By learning 't was Rosa,
The charming milk-maiden
Of sweet Finojosa.

LOPE DE MENDOZA. (Spanish., Translation of J. H. WIFFEN

THE SPINNING-WHEEL SONG.

MELLOW the moonlight to shine is beginning; Close by the window young Eileen is spinning;

281

"Tis the sound, mother dear, of the suminer wind dying."

Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring,

Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring;

Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing.

"What's that noise that I hear at the window, I wonder?"

""Tis the little birds chirping the holly-bush under."

"What makes you be shoving and moving your stool on,

And singing all wrong that old song of 'The Coolun?""

There's a form at the casement-the form of her true-love

And he whispers, with face bent, "I'm waiting for you, love;

Get up on the stool, through the lattice step

lightly,

We'll rove in the grove while the moon's shining brightly."

Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring,

Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring;

Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing.

The maid shakes her head, on her lip lays

her fingers,

Steals up from her seat-longs to go, and yet lingers;

A frightened glance turns to her drowsy grandmother,

Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel

with the other.

Lazily, easily, swings now the wheel round;

sound;

ting-

"Eileen, aclora, I hear some one tapping." "Tis the ivy, dear mother, against the glass flapping."

"Eileen, I surely near somebody sighing."

The maid steps-then leaps to the arms of her lover.

Slower-and slower-and slower the wheel swings;

Lower and lower-and lower the reel rings;

THE sun is gone down,

And the moon upward springeth; The night creepeth onward;

The nightingale singeth.

To himself said a watchman,
"Is any knight waiting
In pain for his lady.

To give her his greeting?
Now, then, for their meeting!"

His words heard a knight,

In the garden while roaming: 66 Ah, watchman!" he said,

"Is the daylight fast coming? And may I not see her,

And wilt not thou aid me?" "Go, wait in thy covert,

Lest the cock crow reveillé,
And the dawn should betray thee."

Then in went that watchman,

And called for the fair;
And gently he roused her:
"Rise, lady! prepare!
New tidings I bring thee,

And strange to thine ear;
Come, rouse thee up quickly-
Thy knight tarries near;
Rise, lady! appear!"
"Ah, watchman! though purely
The moon shines above,
Yet trust not securely

That feigned tale of love.
Far, far from my presence
My own knight is straying;
And, sadly repining,

I mourn his long staying,
And weep his delaying."

Nay, lady! yet trust me, No falsehood is there." Then up sprang that lady And braided her hair,

THE OLD STORY.

He came across the meadow-pass,
That summer eve of eves-
The sunlight streamed along the grass
And glanced amid the leaves;
And from the shrubbery below.

And from the garden trees.
He heard the thrushes' music flow
And humming of the bees;
The garden gate was swung apart-
The space was brief between;
But there, for throbbing of his heart,
He paused perforce to lean.
He leaned upon the garden-gate;

He looked, and scarce he breathed;
Within the little porch she sate,

With woodbine overwreathed;
Her eyes upon her work were bent,
Unconscious who was nigh:
But oft the needle slowly went,

And oft did idle lie:
And ever to her lips arose

Sweet fragments sweetly sung, But ever, ere the notes could close,

She hushed them on her tongue. Her fancies as they come and go,

Her pure face speaks the while; For now it is a flitting glow,

And now a breaking smile; And now it is a graver shade,

When holier thoughts are there-
An angel's pinion might be stayed
To see a sight so fair;

But still they hid her looks of light,
Those downcast eyelids pale-
Two lovely clouds, so silken white,
Two lovelier stars that veil.

The sun at length his burning edge

Had rested on the hill,

And, save one thrush from out the hedge, Both bower and grove were still.

The sun had almost bade farewell;

But one reluctant ray Still loved within that porch to dwell, As charmed there to stayIt stole aslant the pear-tree bough,

And through the woodbine fringe, And kissed the maiden's neck and brow, And bathed her in its tinge.

"O beauty of my heart!" he said,
"O darling, darling mine!
Was ever light of evening shed

On loveliness like thine?

Why should I ever leave this spot,
But gaze until I die?"

A moment from that bursting thought
She felt his footstep nigh,
One sudden, lifted glance-but one-
A tremor and a start-

So gently was their greeting done
That who would guess their heart?

Long, long the sun had sunken down,
And all his golden hail

Had died away to lines of brown,
In duskier hues that fail.
The grasshopper was chirping shrill—
No other living sound
Accompanied the tiny rill

That gurgled under ground-
No other living sound, unless
Some spirit bent to hear
Low words of human tenderness
And mingling whispers near.

The stars, like pallid gems at first,
Deep in the liquid sky,
Now forth upon the darkness burst,
Sole kings and lights on high;
For splendor, myriad-fold, supreme,
No rival moonlight strove;
Nor lovelier e'er was Hesper's beam,

Nor more majestic Jove.

But what if hearts there beat that night

That recked not of the skies,

Or only felt their imaged light

In one another's eyes?

And if two worlds of hidden thought
And longing passion met,
Which, passing human language, sought
And found an utterance yet;

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"A chain of gold ye shall not lack,
Nor braid to bind your hair,
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,
Nor palfrey fresh and fair;
And you the foremost of them a'

Shall ride, our forest queen."
But ay she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock of Hazeldean.

The kirk was decked at morning tide;

The tapers glimmered fair;

The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
And knight and dame are there;
They sought her both by bower and ha';
The ladye was not seen.-
She's o'er the border, and awa'

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

for stone;

He swam the Eske river where ford there

was none;

But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late:

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochin

var.

So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, 'Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all;

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)

"Oh come ye in peace here, or come ye in

war,

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied

Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide

And now I am come, with this lost love of mine,

While her mother did fret and her father did fume,

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;

And the bride-maidens whispered," "T were better by far

To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in ber ear,

When they reached the hall door and the charger stood near;

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung So light to the saddle before her he sprung! "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;

They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan;

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:

There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee,

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they

see.

wine;

Lochinvar ?

SIR WALTER SOOTE