Sad before her leaned the boy, "Goldilocks that I love well, Happy creature fair and coy,

Think o' me, sweet Amabel."
Goldilocks she shook apart,
Looked with doubtful, doubtful
eyes:

Like a blossom in her heart,
Opened out her first surprise.

As a gloriole sign o' grace,

Goldilocks, ah fall and flow,
On the blooming, childlike face,
Dimple, dimple, come and go.
Give her time: on grass and sky
Let her gaze if she be fain,
As they looked ere he drew nigh,
They will never look again.

Ah! the playtime she has known,
While her goldilocks grew long,
Is it like a nestling flown,

Childhood over like a song?
Yes, the boy may clear his brow,
Though she thinks to say him nay,
When she sighs, "I cannot now.
Come again some other day."
JEAN INGELOW.

O MY LUVE'S LIKE A RED, RED ROSE.

O MY luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June: O my luve's like the melodie, That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in luve am I: And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun: I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.
BURNS.

GO, LOVELY ROSE.

Go, lovely rose!

Tell her that wastes her time and

me,

That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to

be.

But the rose was awake all night for your sake,

Knowing your promise to me; The lilies and roses were all awake, They sighed for the dawn and thee.

IX.

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,

Come hither, the dances are done, In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,

Queen lily and rose in one; Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,

To the flowers, and be their sun.

X.

There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate.

She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate; The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near; 99

And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"

The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear,"

And the lily whispers, "I wait."

XI.

She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,

Had I lain for a century dead; Would start and tremble under her feet,

And blossom in purple and red.
TENNYSON.

TO ALTHEA.

WHEN Love with unconfinèd wings
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair
And fettered to her eye,

The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses crowned,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free,
Fishes that tipple in the deep
Know no such liberty.

When, linnet-like confinèd, I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my King;
When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood,
Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage:
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

TO CELIA.

LOVELACE.

DRINK to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from my soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope that there

It would not withered be;
But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent it back to me;
Since then it grows and smells, Iswear,
Not of itself, but thee,

BEN JONSON.

THE NIGHT PIECE: TO JULIA.

HER eyes the glow-worme lend thee,
The shooting stars attend thee;

And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow,

Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

No Will-o'-th'-Wispe mislight thee,
Nor snake nor slow-worme bite thee;
But on, on thy way,
Not making a stay,
Since ghost there's none to affright
thee.

Let not the dark thee cumber,
What though the moon do slumber?
The starres of the night
Will lend thee their light,
Like tapers cleare, without number.

Then, Julia, let me wooe thee,
Thus, thus to come unto me;
And when I shall meet
Thy silvery feet,

My soule I'll poure into thee.

HERRICK.

THE clouds are flying, the woods are sighing,

A maiden is walking the grassy shore,

And as the wave breaks with might, with might,

She singeth aloud in the darksome night,

But a tear is in her troubled eye.

For the world feels cold, and the heart gets old,

And reflects the bright aspect of Nature no more;

Then take back thy child, holy Virgin, to thee!

I have plucked the one blossom that hangs on earth's tree, I have lived, and have loved, and die.

ANONYMOUS.

Translated from Schiller.

THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA. "RISE up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the

golden cushion down;

Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town! From gay guitar and violin the silver notes are flowing,

And the lovely lute doth speak between the trumpet's lordly blowing,

And banners bright from lattice light are waving everywhere, And the tall, tall plume of our cousin's bridegroom floats proudly in the air.

Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down; Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town!

"Arise, arise, Xarifa! I see Andalla's face

He bends him to the people with a calm and princely grace;

Through all the land of Xeres and banks of Guadalquiver

Rode forth bridegroom so brave as

he, so brave and lovely never. Yon tall plume waving o'er his brow, of purple mixed with white, I guess 'twas wreathed by Zara, whom he will wed to-night. Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down; Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town!"

The Zegri lady rose not, nor laid her cushion down,

Nor came she to the window to gaze with all the town;

But though her eyes dwelt on her knee, in vain her fingers strove, And though her needle pressed the silk, no flower Xarifa wove; One bonny rose-bud she had traced before the noise drew nigh That bonny bud a tear effaced, slow drooping from her eye "No, no!" she sighs "bid me not rise, nor lay my cushion down, To gaze upon Andalla with all the gazing town!"

"Why rise ye not, Xarifa nor lay your cushion downWhy gaze ye not, Xarifa - with all the gazing town?

Hear, hear the trumpet how it swells, and how the people cry: He stops at Zara's palace-gate-why sit ye still, oh, why!"

-"At Zara's gate stops Zara's mate; in him shall I discover The dark-eyed youth pledged me his truth with tears, and was my lover!

I will not rise, with weary eyes, nor lay my cushion down, To gaze on false Andalla with all the gazing town!"

LOCKHART.