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They stole little Bridget

For seven years long; When she came down again

Her friends were all gone. They took her lightly back,

Between the night and morrow, They thought that she was fast asleep,

But she was dead with sorrow. They have kept her ever since

Deep within the lakes, On a bed of flag-leaves,

Watching till she wakes.

By the craggy hill-side,

Through the mosses bare They have planted thorn-trees

For pleasure here and there. Is

any man so daring

As dig one up in spite,
He shall find the thornies set

In his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain,

Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting

For fear of little men ;
Wee folk, good folk,

Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.

THE LAST DAY OF AUTUMN.

(FROM THE GERMAN.)
НЕ year lies ;

poet, in
Hears melancholy sighs

Among the wither'd leaves.
Not so: but like a spirit glorified
The angel of the year departs, lays down

His robes, once green in spring,
Or bright with summer's blue;

1

And, having done his mission on the earth,
Filling ten thousand vales with golden corn,

Orchards with rosy fruit,

And scattering flowers around,-
He lingers for a moment in the west,
With the declining sun sheds over all

A pleasant, farewell smile,
And so returns to God.

BALLAD.

IGH on, sad heart, for Love's eclipse

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Though 'tis not for my peasant lips

To soil her name between.
A king might lay his sceptre down,

But I am poor and nought :
The brow should wear a golden crown

That wears her in its thought!

The diamonds glancing in her hair,

Whose sudden beams surprise, Might bid such humble hopes beware

The glancing of her eyes. Yet looking once, I look'd too long;

And if my love is sin, Death follows on the heels of

wrong, And kills the crime within.

Her dress seem'd wove of lily-leaves,

It was so pure and fine;
O lofty wears, and lowly weaves !
But hoddan

grey

is mine. And homely hose must step apart

Where garter'd princes stand : But, may he wear my love at heart,

That wins her lily hand !

Alas! there's far from russet frieze

To silks and satin gowns ;
I doubt if God made like degrees

In courtly hearts and clowns :
My father wrong'd a maiden's mirth,

And brought her cheeks to blame, And all that's lordly of my birth,

Is my reproach and shame.

"Tis vain to weep, 'tis vain to sigh,

'Tis vain this idle speech; For where her happy pearls do lie,

My tears may never reach.
Yet when I'm gone, e'en lofty pride

May say of what has been,
His love was nobly born and died,

Though all the rest was mean.

My speech is rude, but speech is weak

Such love as mine to tell ;
Yet, had I words, I dare not speak :

So, Lady, fare thee well!
I will not wish thy better state

Was one of low degree,
But must weep that partial fate
Made such a churl of me.

Hood.

TO DIANEME.

SW

WEET, be not proud of those two eyes,

Which star-like sparkle in their skies ;
Nor be you proud that you can see
All hearts your captives, yours yet free ;
Be

you not proud of that rich hair
Which wantons with the love-sick air:
Whenas that ruby which you wear,
Sunk from the tip of your
Will last to be a precious stone
When all your world of beauty's gone.

HERRICK.

soft ear,

THE BELLS.

I.

HEAR

EAR the sledges with the bells

Silver bells ! What a world of merriment their melody foretells !

How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,

In the icy air of night!

While the stars that over-sprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle

With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells,
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II.

Hear the mellow wedding bells,

Golden bells !
What a world of happiness their harmony fortells !

Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,

And all in tune,

What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats

On the moon !
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells !

How it swells !

How it dwells
On the Future ! how it tells

Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing

Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells,
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells !

III.
Hear the loud alarum bells-

Brazen bells !

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