F

SONG.

ALSE friend, wilt thou smile or weep
When my life is laid asleep?

Little cares for a smile or a tear
The clay-cold corpse upon the bier;
Farewell! Heigh-ho!

What is this whispers low?

There is a snake in thy smile, my dear,
And bitter poison within thy tear.

Sweet sleep, were death like to thee,
Or if thou couldst mortal be,
I would close these eyes of pain,—
When to wake? Never again.
O world, farewell!

Listen to the passing-bell!

It says thou and I must part,

With a light and a heavy heart.

SHELLEY.

THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL.

TH

[OLD BALLAD.]

HERE lived a wife at Usher's Well,
And a wealthy wife was she,

She had three stout and stalwart sons,
And sent them o'er the sea.

They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely ane,

When word cam' to the carline wife,
That her three sons were gane.

They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely three,
When word cam' to the carline wife,
That her sons she'd never see.

"I wish the wind may never cease,
Nor fish be in the flood,

Till my three sons come hame to me,
In earthly flesh and blood!"

It fell about the Martinmas,
When nights are lang and mirk,
The carline wife's three sons cam' hame,
And their hats were o' the birk.

It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
Nor yet in ony sheugh;

But at the gates o' Paradise

That birk grew fair eneugh.

"Blow up the fire, my maidens !
Bring water from the well!

For a' my house shall feast this night,
Since my three sons are well."

And she has made to them a bed,
She's made it large and wide;

And she's ta'en her mantle round about,
Sat down at the bed-side.

Up then crew the red, red cock,

And up and crew the gray;

The eldest to the youngest said

"'Tis time we were away.

"The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,
The channerin' worm doth chide;
Gin we be miss'd out o' our place,
A sair pain we maun bide."

"Lie still, lie still but a little wee while,
Lie still but if we may;

Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes,
She'll go mad ere it be day.

"Our mother has nae mair but us;

See where she leans asleep;
The mantle that was on herself,

She has happ'd it round our feet."

O it's they have ta'en up their mother's mantle,
And they've hung it on a pin :

“O lang may ye hing, my mother's mantle,
Ere ye hap us again!

66

'Fare-ye-weel, my mother dear!
Fareweel to barn and byre!

And fare-ye-weel, the bonny lass,
That kindles my mother's fire."

W

THE KNIGHT'S TOMB.

HERE is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?
Where may the grave of that good man
be?

By the side of a spring on the breast of Helvellyn,
Under the twigs of a young birch tree.

The oak that in summer was sweet to hear And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year, And whistled and roar'd in the winter alone, Is gone, and the birch in its stead has grown. The Knight's bones are dust,

And his good sword rust;

His soul is with the saints, I trust.

COLERIDGE.

THE SHADOW OF NIGHT.

H

I.

OW strange it is to wake

And watch while others sleep,

Till sight and hearing ache
For objects that may keep
The awful inner sense

Unroused, lest it should mark
The life that haunts the emptiness
And horror of the dark.

II.

How strange the distant bay
Of dogs; how wild the note
Of cocks that scream for day,
In homesteads far remote;
How strange and wild to hear

The old and crumbling tower,
Amidst the darkness, suddenly
Take life and speak the hour!

III.

If dreams or panic dread
Reveal the gloom of gloom,

Kiss thou the pillow'd head
By thine, and soft resume
The confident embrace,

And so each other keep
In the sure league of amity,
And the safe lap of sleep.

IV.

Albeit the love-sick brain
Affects the dreary moon,
Ill things alone refrain

From life's nocturnal swoon :

Men melancholy mad,

Beasts ravenous and sly, The robber and the murderer, Remorse, with lidless eye.

V.

The nightingale is gay,

For she can vanquish night; Dreaming, she sings of day,

Notes that make darkness bright: But when the refluent gloom Saddens the gaps of song,

We charge on her the dolefulness, And call her crazed with wrong.

VI.

'Tis well that men should lie

All senseless, while the sun,

Coursing the nether sky,

Leaves half the world o'er-run

With baleful shapes unseen;

And foul it is when we

By loud carousal desecrate
Night's evil sanctity.