Ohearts that break and give no sign

lip and

Save whitening
facking tresses,
Till Death pours out his cordial wine
8 low-dropped porn omisery's crusting presses-

breath or

echoing

chard

hidden pang were given,

If singing

To every

th, as sweet as Heaven,

What endless melodies

were poured

As sad as earth, as sweet as

Oliver Wendell Hormes.

THE VOICELESS.

A few can touch the magic string,

And noisy Fame is proud to win them; Alas for those that never sing,

But die with all their music in them!

Nay, grieve not for the dead alone,

Whose song has told their hearts' sad story:
Weep for the voiceless, who have known
The cross without the crown of glory!
Not where Leucadian breezes sweep

O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow,
But where the glistening night-dews weep
On nameless sorrow's churchyard pillow.

O hearts that break and give no sign,
Save whitening lip and fading tresses,
Till Death pours out his cordial wine
Slow-dropped from Misery's crushing presses!

If singing breath or echoing chord
To every hidden pang were given,
What endless melodies were poured,
As sad as Earth, as sweet as Heaven!

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

55

PASSING THY DOOR.

O! 'TWAS the world to me,
Life too and more!
Catching a glance of thee,
Passing thy door.
Faint as an autumn leaf,
Trembling to part:

So, in that moment brief,

Trembled my heart.

Nothing I saw but thee,

Nothing could find; Vision had fled from me, Lingering behind.

How I had passed along,

How found my way, Sightless amidst the throng, Love could but say.

How I had moved my feet
I never knew ;

I had seen nothing, sweet,

Since I'd seen you.
O! 'twas the world to me,

Life too—and more!

Catching a glance of thee,
Passing thy door.

CHARLES SWAIN

BONNIE GEORGE CAMPBELL.

HIE upon Hielands,
And low upon Tay,
Bonnie George Campbell
Rade out on a day.
Saddled and bridled

And gallant rade he;
Hame cam his gude horse,
But hame cam na he!

Out ran his auld mither,
Greetin' fu' sair;

Out ran his bonnie bride,

Rivin' her hair.

Saddled and bridled

And booted rade he;

Toom hame cam the saddle,
But never cam he!

"My meadow lies green, And my corn is unshorn;

My barn is to big,

And my baby's unborn." Saddled and bridled

And booted rade he;

Toom hame cam the saddle,

But never cam he!

ANONYMOUS.

THE SAILOR.

A ROMAIC BALLAD.

THOU that hast a daughter

For one to woo and wed, Give her to a husband

With snow upon his head, O, give her to an old man, Though little joy it be, Before the best young sailor That sails upon the sea!

How luckless is the sailor

When sick and like to die:

He sees no tender mother,

No sweetheart standing by. Only the captain speaks to him: "Stand up, stand up, young man!

And steer the ship to haven,

As none beside thee can.

Thou say'st to me, "Stand up, stand up! I say to thee, Take hold!

Lift me a little from the deck;

My hands and feet are cold. And let my head, I pray thee, With handkerchiefs be bound: