My heart it said nay; I looked for Jamie back;

But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a

wrack,

His ship it was a wrack

why didna Jamie dee,

Or why do I live to cry, Wae 's me?

My father urgit sair: my mother didna speak;

But she looked in my

break:

face till my heart was like to

They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the

sea:

Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been a wife a week but only four,
When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door,
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it
he-

Till he said, "I'm come hame to marry thee."

Oh, sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we
say;

We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away :
I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee;
And why was I born to say, Wae's me!

I

gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin;

I daurna think on Jamie, for that waud be a sin;
But I'll do my best a gude wife aye to be,

For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me.
Lady Anne Lindsay.

JEAN

Or a' the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly like the west,

For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo❜e best:

There wild woods grow and rivers row,
And monie a hill between ;

But day and night my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair;
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,

I hear her charm the air:

There's not a bonnie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green;
There's not a bonnie bird that sings,

But minds me o' my Jean.

Robert Burns.

TO A WATERFOWL

WHITHER, 'midst falling dew,

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,

Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink

Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean side?

There is a Power whose care

Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,
The desert and illimitable air,

Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fanned,

At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere;
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.

And soon that toil shall end;

Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend Soon o'er thy sheltered nest.

Thou 'rt gone,

Hath swallowed up thy form, yet on my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.

He who from zone to zone

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone

Will lead my steps aright.

William Cullen Bryant.

SAILORS' SONG

To sea, to sea!

The calm is o'er;

The wanton water leaps in sport, And rattles down the pebbly shore;

The dolphin wheels, the sea-cows snort; And unseen mermaids' pearly song

Comes bubbling up, the weeds among. Fling broad the sail, dip deep the oar: To sea, to sea! the calm is o'er.

To sea, to sea! our wide-winged bark
Shall billowy cleave its sunny way,
And with its shadow, fleet and dark,
Break the caved Tritons' azure day,
Like mighty eagle soaring light
O'er antelopes on Alpine height.

The anchor heaves, the ship swings free,
The sails swell full. To sea, to sea!

Thomas Lovell Beddoes.

CARCASSONNE

I'm growing old, I've sixty years;
I've labored all my life in vain :
In all that time of hopes and fears
I've failed my dearest wish to gain.
I see full well that here below
Bliss unalloyed there is for none,
My prayer will ne'er fulfillment know, —
I never have seen Carcassonne,
I never have seen Carcassonne.

You see the city from the hill,
It lies beyond the mountains blue;
And yet to reach it one must still
Five long and weary leagues pursue,
And, to return, as many more.
Ah! had the vintage plenteous grown!
The grape withheld its yellow store:
I shall not look on Carcassonne,
I shall not look on Carcassonne.

They tell me every day is there
No more nor less than Sunday gay;
In shining jewels and garments fair
The people walk upon their way.
One gazes there on castle walls
As grand as those of Babylon,
A bishop, and two generals:
I do not know fair Carcassonne,
I do not know fair Carcassonne.

The curé's right; he says

that we

Are ever wayward, weak, and blind;
He tells us in his homily

Ambition ruins all mankind.

Yet could I there two days have spent, While still the autumn sweetly shone, Ah me! I might have died content When I had looked on Carcassonne, When I had looked on Carcassonne.

Thy pardon, father, I beseech,
In this my prayer if I offend;