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Lost nae time, for weel we knew,

And drew them by the left hand in,In our sleeves fu' weel we knew, Mysie the priest, and Elspie won When the gloaming came that night, The Lombard, Nort the lawyer curle, Duck nor drake, nor hen nor cock, And I my mysel the provost's son. Would be found by candlelight.

Then wi' cantrip kisses seven,

Three times round wi' kisses seven, When our chaffering a' was done, All was paid for, sold and done,

Warped and woven there spun we, We drew a glove on ilka hand,

Arms and legs and flarning hair,

Like a whirlwind on the sea.
We sweetly curtsied each to each,
And deftly danced a saraband.

Like the wind that sucks the sea,

Over and in and on the sea,
The market lasses looked and laughed,
Left their gear and looked and laughed; And ilka man o' all the four

Good sooth, it was a mad delight:
They made as they would join the game, Shut his eyes and laughed outright,
But soon their mithers, wild and wud,
Wi' whack and screech they stopped the Laughed as long as they had breath,

Laughed while they had sense or breath;

And close about us coiled a mist
Sae loud the tongues o'raudies grew,
The flitin' and
the skirlin' grew,

Of gnats and midges, wasps and flies;

Like the whirlwind shaft it rist.
At a' the windows i' the place,
Wi' spoons and knives, wi' needle or awl, Drawn up was I right off my feet,
Was thrust out ilka hand and face.

Into the mist and off my feet;

And, dancing on each chimney-top,
And down ea.h stair they thronged anon; I saw a thousand darling imps

Gentle, simple, thronged anon; Keeping time wi' skip and hop.
Souter and tailor, frowzy Nan,
The ancient widow young again

We'll gang ance mair to yon town,
Simpering behind her fan.

Wi' better luck to yon town:

We'll walk in silk and cramoisie,
Without choice, against their will,

And I shall wed the prevost's son;
Doited, dazed against their will, My lady o' the town I'll be!
The market lassie and her mither,
The farmer and his husbandman,

For I was born a crowned king's child, Hand in hand danced a' thegether.

Born and nursed a king's child,
King o' a land ayont the sea,

Where the Blackamoor kissed me first
Slow at first, but faster soon,
Still increasin' wild and fast,

And taught me art and glamourie. Hoods and mantles, hats and hose,

The Lombard shall be Elspie's man, Blindly doffed, and frae them cast,

Elspie's gowden husbandman; Left them naked, heads and toes.

Nort shall take the lawyer's hand;

The priest shall swear another vow.
They would hae torn us limb frae limb,

We'll dance again the saraband !
Dainty limb frae dainty limb;
But never ane o' them could win
Across the line that I had drawn
Wi' bleeding thumb a-witherskin.
There was Jeff the provost's son,

JOSEPH BRENNAN.
Jeff the provost's only son ;
There was Father Auld himsel',

COME TO ME, DEAREST.
The Lombard frae the hostelrie,
And the lawyer Peter Fell.

COME to me, dearest, I'm lonely with.

out thee, All goodly men we singled out,

Day-time and night-time, I'm thinking Waled them well and singled out,

about thee;

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Night-time and day-time, in dreams I | I would not die without you at my side, behold thee;

love, Unwelcome the waking which ceases to You will not linger when I shall have fold thee.

died, love. Come to me, darling, my sorrows to lighten,

Come to me, dear, ere I die of my sorrow, Come in thy beauty to bless and to Rise on my gloom like the sun of tobrighten;

morrow; Come in thy womanhood, meekly and Strong, swift, and fond as the words lowly,

which I speak, love, Come in thy lovingness, queenly and holy. With a song on your lip and a smile on

your cheek, love. Swallows will flit round the desolate Come, for my heart in your absence is ruin,

weary, Telling of spring and its joyous renew

Haste, for my spirit is sickened and

dreary, ing And thoughts of thy love, and its mani. Come to the arms which alone should fold treasure,

caress thee, Are circling my heart with a promise of Come to the heart that is throbbing to

pleasure. O Springof my spirit, o Mayof my bosom, Shine out on my soul, till it bourgeon

and blossom; The waste of my life has a rose-root

CHARLES G. LELAND. within it. And thy fondness alone to the sunshine

[U. S. A.) can win it.

press thee !

THE MUSIC-LESSON OF CONFUCIUS.

the even,

Figure that moves like a song through

The music-lesson of Koung-tseu the wise,

Known as Confucius in the western Features lit up by a reflex of heaven; Eyes like the skies of poor Erin, our

world. mother, Where shadow and sunshine are chas- None knew so well as great Confucius

Of all the sages of the Flowery Land ing each other; Smiles coming seldom, but childlike and The ancient rites; and when his mother

died, simple,

Three years he mourned alone beside Planting in each rosy cheek a sweet

her tomb dimple; 0, thanks to the Saviour, that even thy A single detail of the dark old forms

As the Old Custom bade, nor did he miss seeming Is left to the exile to brighten his Required of the bereaved, for he had

made dreaming.

Himself a model for all living men:

A mirror and a pattern of the Past. You have been glad when you knew I was gladdened;

Now when the years of mourning with Dear, are you sad now to hear I am

their rites saddened?

Were at an end, Confucius came forth Our hearts ever answer in tune and in And wandered as of old with other men, time, love,

Giving his counsel unto many kings; As octave to octave, and rhyme unto But still the hand of grief was on his rhyme, love:

heart, I cannot weep but your tears will be and his dark hue set forth his darkened flowing,

hours. You cannot smile but my cheek will be to drive away these sorrows from his glowing;

soul,

Remembering that music had been made And of the melody whose key is God.
A moral motive in the golden books Now I will travel to the land of Kin,
Of wisdom by the sacred ancestors, And know this sage of music, great
He played upon the Kin -- the curious Siang,
lute

And learn the secret lore which hides Invented by Fou-Hi in days of old;

within Fou-Hi of the bull's head and dragon's All sweet well-ordered sounds." He form,

went his way, The Lord of Learning who upraised Nor rested till he stood before the man.

mankind From being silent brutes to singing men. Thus spoke Siang unto Confucius :

“Of all the arts, great Music is the art In vain Confucius played upon the lute; To raise the soul above all earthly storms; He found that music would not be to For in it lies that purest harmony him

Which lifts us over self and up to What it had been of old, a pastime

God. gay:

Thou who hast studied deeply the Koua, For he had borne through three long The eight great symbols of created years of grief

things Stupendous knowledge, and his mighty Knowest the sacred power of the line soul,

Which when unbroken flies to all the Grasping the lines which link all earthly worlds lore,

As light unending, - but in broken forms Had been by suffering raised to greater Falls short as sky and earth, clouds, power:

winds, and fire, For he who knows and suffers, if he will The deep blue ocean and the mountain May raise himself unnumbered scales high, o'er man.

And the red lightning hissing in the wave.

The mighty law which formed what thou The music spoke no more its wonted

canst see, sounds,

As clearly lives in all that thou canst But whispered mysteries in a broken hear, tongue

And more than this, in all that thou Which urged him sorely. Then Con.

canst feel. fucius said:

Here, take thy lute in hand. I teach “O secret Music ! sacred tongue of God! the air I hear thee calling to me, and I come ! Made by the sage Wen Wang of ancient Of old I did but know thy outer form,

days." And dreamed not of the spirit hid within;

Confucius took the lute and played the The Goddess in the Lotus. Yes, I come,

air And will not rest, nor will I calm my Till all his soul seemed passing into doubt

song; Till I have seen thee plainly with mine Then he fell deep into the solemn chords eyes,

As though his body and the lute were And palpably have touched thee with

And every chord a wave which bore him Then shall I know thee, - raised to life

Through the great sea of ecstasy. His For what thou truly art.

hands Lo! I have heard Then ceased to play, — but in his raptured That in the land of Kin a master lives,

look So deeply skilled in music, that mankind They saw him following out the harmony. Begin again to give a glowing faith Unto the golden stories which are told Five days went by, and still Confucius Of the strange harmonies which built Played all day long the ancient simple the world,

air;

one,

my hand,

on

for me

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for years,

And when Siang would teach him more, That which I never yet myself beheld, he said:

Though I have played the sacred song Not yet, my master, I would seize the thought,

Striving with all my soul to penetrate The subtle thought which hides within Its mystery unto the master's form, the tune.

Whilst thou hast reached it at a single To which the master answered: “It is

bound: well.

Henceforth the gods alone can teach thee Take five days more !” And when the

tune." time was passed Unto Siang thus spoke Confucius :

MINE OWN. I do begin to see, — yet what I see Is very dim. I am as one who looks

AND O, the longing, burning eyes ! And nothing sees except a luminous

And 0, the gleaming hair cloud :

Which waves around me, night and day, Give me but five more days, and at the

O'er chamber, hall, and stair!
end
If I have not attained the great idea
Hidden of old within the melody,

And 0, the step, half dreamt, half heard ! I will leave music as beyond my power.” And memories of merriment

And 0, the laughter low!
Do as thou wilt, О pupil !” cried Siang Which faded long ago!
In deepest admiration; “never yet
Had I a scholar who was like to thee."

0, art thou Sylph, or truly Self,

Or either at thy choice?
And on the fifteenth day Confucius rose O, speak in breeze or beating heart,
And stood before Siang, and cried aloud :

But let me hear thy voice!
The mist which shadowed me is blown
away,

0, some do call me Laughter, love; I am as one who stands upon a cliff And some do call me Sin":And gazes far and wide upon the world, “And they may call thee what they will, For I have mastered every secret thought, So I thy love may win. . Yea, every shadow of a feeling dim Which fitted through the spirit of Wen “And some do call me Wantonness,

And some do call me Play” :When he composed that air. I speak to “0, they might call thee what they would him,

If thou wert mine alway!” I hear him clearly answer me again; And more than that, I see his very form: “And some do call me Sorrow, love, A man of middle stature, with a hue And some do call me Tears, Half blended with the dark and with the And some there be who name me Hopo,

And some that name me Fears. His features long, and large sweet eyes which beam

And some do call me Gentle Heart, With great benevolence, La noble face!

And some Forgetfulness": His voice is deep and full, and all his air - And if thou com'st as one or all, Inspires a sense of virtue and of love. Thou comest but to bless !" I know that I behold the very man, The sage of ancient days, Wen Wang the And some do call me Life, sweetheart, just."

And some do call me Death;

And he to whom the two are one
Then good Siang lay down upon the dust, Has won my heart and faith.”
And said: “Thou art my master. Even
thus

She twined her white arms round his The ancient legend, known to none but

neck: me,

The tears fell down like rain. Describes our first great sire. And thou “And if I live or if I die, hast seen

We'll never part again.".

Wang

fair;

came.

HELEN BARRON BOSTWICK.

Ever dwells the lesser in the greater;

In God's love the human : we by these [U. S. A.]

Know he holds Love's simplest stamURVASI.

mering sweeter

Than cold praise of wordy Pharisees. 'T is a story told by Kalidasa, Hindoo poet,

in melodious rhyme, How with train of inaidens, young Urvasi Came to keep great Indra's festal time.

UNKNOWN 'T was her part in worshipful confession

Of the god-name on that sacred day, THE FISHERMAN'S FUNERAL Walking flower-crowned in the long procession,

Up on the breezy headland the fisher“I love Puru-shotta-ma" to say.

man's grave they made,

Where, over the daisies and clover bells, Pure as snow on Himalayan ranges,

the birchen branches swayed ; Heaven-descended, soon to heaven Above us the lark was singing in the withdrawn,

cloudless skies of June, Fairer than the moon-flower of the And under the cliffs the billows were Ganges,

chanting their ceaseless tune: Was Urvasi, Daughter of the Dawn. For the creamy line was curving along

the hollow shore, But it happened that the gentle maiden Where the dear old tides were flowing

Loved one Puru-avas, ---fateful name ! — that he would ride no more. And her heart, with its sweet secret laden, The dirge of the wave, the note of the bird, Faltered when her time of utterance and the priest's low tone were blent

In the breeze that blew from the moor

land, all laden with country.scent; “I love”--then she stopped, and people But never a thought of the new-mown wondered;

hay tossing on sunny plains, I love”-she must guard her secret Or of lilies deep in the wild-wood, or well;

roses gemming the lanes, Then from sweetest lips that ever blun- Woke in the hearts of the stern bronzed dered,

men who gathered around the I love Puru-avas,” trembling fell.

grave,

Where lay the mate who had fought with Ah, what terror seized on poor Urvasi !

them the battle of wind and wave, Misty grew the violets of her eyes, And her form bent like a broken daisy, How boldly he steered the coble across While around her rose the mocking the foaming bar, cries.

When the sky was black to the eastward

and the breakers white on the Scar! But great Indra said, “The maid shall How his keen eye caught the squallahead, marry

how his strong hand furled the sail, Him whose image in her faithful heart As we drove o'er the angry waters before She so near to that of God doth carry,

the raging gale! Scarce her lips can keep their names How cheery he kept all the long dark apart.'

night; and never a parson spoke

Good words, like those he said to us, Call it then not weakness or dissem

when at last the morning broke! bling, If, in striving the high name to reach, So thought the dead man's comrades, as Through our voices runs the tender silent and sad they stood, trembling

While the prayer was prayed, the blessing Of an earthly name too dear for said, and the dull earth struck the

speech!

wood;

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