Though it be withered, twine no wreath again; This only is the crown she can wear rightly.

Cloke her in ermine, for the night is cold,
And wrap her warmly, for the night is long,
In pious hands the flaming torches hold,
While her attendants, chosen from among
Her faithful virgin throng,

May lay her in her cedar litter,

Decking her coverlet with sprigs of gold, Roses, and lilies white that best befit her.

Sound flutes and tabors, that the bridal be
Not without music, nor with these alone;
But let the viol lead the melody,

With lesser intervals, and plaintive moan
Of sinking semitone;

And, all in choir, the virgin voices

Rest not from singing in skilled harmony The song that aye the bridegroom's ear rejoices,

Let the priests go before, arrayed in white,

And let the dark stoled minstrels follow slow, Next they that bear her, honoured on this night, And then the maidens, in a double row, Each singing soft and low,

And each on high a torch upstaying:

Unto her lover lead her forth with light,

With music, and with singing, and with praying.

'Twas at this sheltering hour he nightly came, And found her trusty window open wide, And knew the signal of the timorous flame, That long the restless curtain would not hide Her form that stood beside;

As scarce she dared to be delighted, Listening to that sweet tale, that is no shame To faithful lovers, that their hearts have plighted.

But now for many days the dewy grass

Has shown no markings of his feet at morn : And watching she has seen no shadow pass The moonlit walk, and heard no music borne Upon her ear forlorn.

In vain has she looked out to greet him; He has not come, he will not come, alas! So let us bear her out where she must meet him.

Now to the river bank the priests are come :
The bark is ready to receive its freight :
Let some prepare her place therein, and some
Embark the litter with its slender weight:
The rest stand by in state,

And sing her a safe passage over;

While she is oared across to her new home, Into the arms of her espectant lover.

And thou, O lover, that art on the watch, Where, on the banks of the forgetful streams, The pale indifferent ghosts wander, and snatch The sweeter moments of their broken dreams,Thou, when the torchlight gleams,

When thou shalt see the slow procession, And when thine ears the fitful music catch, Rejoice! for thou art near to thy possession.

MY SONG

I have loved flowers that fade,
Within whose magic tents
Rich hues have marriage made

With sweet unmemoried scents :

A joy of love at sight,—
A honeymoon delight,
That ages in an hour:—
My song be like a flower!

I have loved airs, that die
Before their charm is writ

Upon the liquid sky

Trembling to welcome it. Notes, that with pulse of fire Proclaim the spirit's desire, Then die, and are nowhere :— My song be like an air!

Die, song, die like a breath,
And wither as a bloom:
Fear not a flowery death,

Dread not an airy tomb!
Fly with delight, fly hence!
'Twas thine love's tender sense
To feast, and on thy bier
Beauty shall shed a tear.

ANDREW LANG

BALLADE OF SLEEP

The hours are passing slow,
I hear their weary tread
Clang from the tower, and go
Back to their kinsfolk dead,

Sleep! death's twin brother dread!
Why dost thou scorn me so?
The wind's voice overhead
Long wakeful here I know,
And music from the steep
Where waters fall and flow.
Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep?

All sounds that might bestow
Rest on the fever'd bed,

All slumb'rous sounds and low
Are mingled here and wed,

Born 1844