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The small round basin, which this jutting stone
Keeps pure from falling leaves! Long may the

Spring,
Quietly as a sleeping infant's breath,
Send

up

cold waters to the traveller
With soft and even pulse! Nor ever cease
Yon tiny cone of sand its soundless dance,
Which at the bottom, like a Fairy's page,
As

merry and no taller, dances still, Nor wrinkles the smooth surface of the Fount. Here twilight is and coolness : here is moss, A soft seat, and a deep and ample shade. Thou mayst toil far and find no second tree. Drink, Pilgrim, here ; here, rest! and if thy heart Be innocent, here too shalt thou refresh Thy spirit, listening to some gentle sound, Or passing gale or hum of murmuring bees !

COLERIDGE.

FAIR INES.

O SAW, ye not fair Ines ?

She's gone into the West,
To dazzle when the sun is down,

And rob the world of rest :
She took our daylight with her,

The smiles that we love best,
With morning blushes on her cheek,

And pearls upon her breast.

O turn again, fair Ines,

Before the fall of night,
For fear the moon should shine alone,

And stars unrivall'd bright;

And blessed will the lover be

That walks beneath their light, And breathes the love against thy cheek

I dare not even write !

Would I had been, fair Ines,

That gallant cavalier,
Who rode so gaily by thy side,

And whisper'd thee so near !
Were there no bonny dames at home,

Or no true lovers here,
That he should cross the seas to win

The dearest of the dear?

I saw thee, lovely Ines,

Descend along the shore
With bands of noble gentlemen,

And banners waved before ;
And gentle youth and maidens gay,

And snowy plumes they wore;-
It would have been a beauteous dream,-

If it had been no more!

Alas, alas, fair Ines,
She went away

with

song, With music waiting on her steps,

And shoutings of the throng;
But some were sad and felt no mirth,

But only music's wrong,
In sounds that sang farewell, farewell,

To her you've loved so long.

Farewell, farewell, fair Ines,

That vessel never bore So fair a lady on its deck,

Nor danced so light before,

Alas, for pleasure on the sea,

And sorrow on the shore !
The smile that blest one lover's heart
Has broken many more!

Hood.

SIC VITA.

L

IKE to the falling of a star,

Or as the flightes of eagles are,
Or like the fresh Spring's gaudie hue,
Or silver drops of morning dewe,
Or like a wind that chafes the flood,
Or bubbles which on water stood, —
E'en such is man-whose borrow'd light
Is straight call’d in and paid to-night.
The wind blows out, the bubble dies,
The Spring entomb’d in Autumn lies,
The dewe's dried up, the star is shot,
The flight is past and man forgot.

[A SONNET UPON SONNETS.]

N

UNS fret not at their convent's narrow

room ; And hermits are contented with their cells ; And students with their pensive citadels ; Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom, Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom, High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells, Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells :

In truth, the prison, unto which we doom
Ourselves, no prison is : and hence to me,
In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound
Within the sonnet's scanty plot of ground:
Pleased if some souls (for such there needs must

be)
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
Should find brief solace there, as I have found.

WORDSWORTH.

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W"

HY weep ye by the tide, ladye ?
Why weep ye

by the tide ? I'll wed

you

to my youngest son, And

ye

shall be his bride.
And ye shall be his bride, ladye,

Sae comely to be seen"-
But aye she loot the tears doon fa'

For Jock o' Hazeldean.

“ Now let this wilfu' grief be done,

And dry that cheek so pale : Young Frank is chief of Errington,

And lord of Langley-dale ;
His step is first in peaceful ha',

His sword in battle keen,”-
But aye she loot the tears doon fa'

For Jock o' Hazeldean.

hair ;

“ A chain of gold ye shall not lack,

Nor braid to bind your
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,

Nor palfrey fresh and fair :

And you, the foremost o' them a',

Shall ride our forest queen"-
But
aye

she loot the tears doon fa'
For Jock o' Hazeldean.

The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide,

The tapers glimmer'd fair ;
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,

And dame and knight were there.
They sought her baith by bower and ha';

The lady was not seen :
She's o'er the border and awa'
Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean !

Scott.

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHEARD TO

HIS LOVE.

TOME live with me, and be my Love,

And we will all the pleasures prove That vallies, groves, hills, and fields, Woods or steepie mountaines yields.

CO

And we will sit upon the rockes
Seeing the shepheards feede their flockes
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigalls.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Imbroydered all with leaves of myrtle :

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