I wakened up in the dead of night,
I wakened up in my death-sirk white,
And I heard a cry from far away,

And I knew the voice of my daughter May.
'Mother, mother, come hither to me!
Mother, mother, come hither and see!
Mother, mother, mother dear,

Another mother is sitting here:

My body is bruised, and in pain I cry;
On straw in the dark afraid I lie;

I thirst and hunger for drink and meat,
And, mother, mother, to sleep were sweet!'
I heard the cry, though my grave was deep,
And awoke from sleep, and awoke from sleep.

I awoke from sleep, I awoke from sleep,
Up I rose from my grave so deep!
The earth was black, but overhead
The stars were yellow, the moon was red;
And I walked along all white and thin,
And lifted the latch and entered in,

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And reached the chamber as dark as night,

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And though it was dark, my face was white.

'Mother, mother, I look on thee !

Mother, mother, you frighten me!

For your cheeks are thin, and your hair is gray.'

But I smiled, and kissed her fears away,

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I smoothed her hair, and I sang a song,

And on my knee I rocked her long:

'O mother, mother, sing low to me;

I am sleepy now, and I cannot see!'
I kissed her, but I could not weep,
And she went to sleep, she went to sleep.

As we lay asleep, as we lay asleep, My May and I, in our grave so deep,

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As we lay asleep in the midnight mirk,

Under the shade of Our Lady's Kirk,

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I wakened up in the dead of night,

Though May, my daughter, lay warm and white,

And I heard the cry of a little one,

And I knew 'twas the voice of Hugh my son.

'Mother, mother, come hither to me!

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Mother, mother, come hither and see!

Mother, mother, mother dear,

Another mother is sitting here:

My body is bruised and my heart is sad,

But I speak my mind and call them bad;
I thirst and hunger night and day,
And were I strong I would fly away!'

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I heard the cry, though my grave was deep,
And awoke from sleep, and awoke from sleep.

I awoke from sleep, I awoke from sleep,
Up I rose from my grave so deep;
The earth was black, but overhead
The stars were yellow, the moon was red
And I walked along all white and thin,
And lifted the latch and entered in.
'Mother, mother, and art thou here?

;

I know your face, and I feel no fear;
Raise me, mother, and kiss my cheek,
For oh I am weary, and sore, and weak.'
I smoothed his hair with a mother's joy,
And he laughed aloud, my own brave boy;
I raised and held him on my breast,
Sang him a song and bade him rest.
'Mother, mother, sing low to me;
I am sleepy now, and I cannot see!'
I kissed him, and I could not weep,
As he went to sleep, as he went to sleep.

As I lay asleep, as I lay asleep,
With my girl and boy in my grave so deep,

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60

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As I lay asleep, I awoke in fear,

Awoke, but awoke not my children dear,
And heard a cry so low and weak
From a tiny voice that could not speak;

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I heard the cry of a little one,

My bairn that could neither talk nor run,
My little little one, uncaressed,

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Starving for lack of the milk of the breast;
And I rose from sleep and entered in,
And found my little one pinched and thin,
And crooned a song and hushed its moan,
And put its lips to my white breast-bone;
And the red, red moon that lit the place
Went white to look at the little face,

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And I kissed and kissed, and I could not weep,

As it went to sleep, as it went to sleep.

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As it lay asleep, as it lay asleep,
I set it down in the darkness deep,
Smoothed its limbs and laid it out,
And drew the curtains around about;
Then into the dark, dark room I hied,
Where he lay awake at the woman's side,
And, though the chamber was black as night,
He saw my face, for it was so white;

I gazed in his eyes, and he shrieked in pain,
And I knew he would never sleep again,
And back to my grave went silently,
And soon my baby was brought to me;
My son and daughter beside me rest,
My little baby is on my breast ;
Our bed is warm, and our grave is deep,
But he cannot sleep, he cannot sleep!

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Robert Buchanan.

*

CCXCVII

THE SANDS OF DEE.

'O Mary, go and call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

Across the sands of Dee;'

The western wind was wild and dank with foam,

And all alone went she.

The creeping tide crept up along the sand,

And o'er and o'er the sand,

And round and round the sand,

As far as eye could see.

The blinding mist came down, and hid the land:

And never home came she.

'Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair—

A tress of golden hair,

A drowned maiden's hair,

Above the nets at sea?

Was never salmon yet that shone so fair
Among the stakes on Dee.'

They rowed her in across the rolling foam,

The cruel crawling foam,

The cruel hungry foam,

To her grave beside the sea :

But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home
Across the sands of Dee.

CCXCVIII

A DIRGE.

Charles Kingsley.

Softly! she is lying
With her lips apart:
Softly! she is dying
Of a broken heart.

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Her sufferings ended with the day!

Yet lived she at its close,

And breathed the long long night away

In statuelike repose.

But when the Sun in all his state
Illumed the eastern skies,

She passed through glory's morning gate,
And walked in Paradise.

James Aldrich.

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TITHONUS.

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,
The vapours weep their burthen to the ground,
Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath,
And after many a summer dies the swan.
Me only cruel immortality

Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms,
Here at the quiet limit of the world,

A white-haired shadow roaming like a dream
The ever-silent spaces of the East,

Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn.

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