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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.

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 be

tween 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 down

Why 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.

THE BANKS OF DOON.

YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair,

How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary, fu' o' care!

Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,

That wantons thro' the flowering
thorn:

Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed- - never to return.

Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon,

To see the rose and woodbine twine;

And ilka bird sang o' its luve,

And fondly sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree; And my fause luver stole my rose, But, ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

BURNS.

A WEARY LOT IS THINE.

A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine;

To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine.
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien,
A feather of the blue,
A doublet of the Lincoln green,

No more of me you knew, my love;
No more of me you knew.

This morn is merry June, I trow,
The rose is budding fain;
But it shall bloom in winter snow
Ere we two meet again.
He turned his charger as he spake
Upon the river shore;

He gave his bridle-reins a shake,
Said, Adieu forevermore, my love;
And adieu forevermore.

THE NIGHT-SEA.

SCOTT.

IN the summer even,
While yet the dew was hoar,
I went plucking purple pansies,
Till my love should come to shore.

The fishing lights their dances
Were keeping out at sea,
And "Come," I sung, "my true love,
Come hasten home to me.'

But the sea it fell a-moaning,
And the white gulls rocked thereon,

And the young moon dropped from heaven,

And the lights hid one by one.

All silently their glances
Slipped down the cruel sea,
And "Wait," cried the night, and
wind, and storm,

"Wait till I come to thee!"

HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD.

HERO TO LEANDER.

OH! go not yet my love,
The night is dark and vast;
The white moon is hid in her heaven
above,

And the waves climb high and fast.
Oh! kiss me, kiss me, once again,
Lest thy kiss should be the last.
Oh kiss me ere we part:
Grow closer to my heart,

My heart is warmer surely than the bosom of the main.

Thy heart beats through thy rosy limbs,

So gladly doth it stir;

Thine eye in drops of gladness swims, I have bathed thee with the pleasant myrrh;

Thy locks are dripping balm;
Thou shalt not wander hence to-
night,

I'll stay thee with my kisses.
To-night the roaring brine
Will rend thy golden tresses:
The ocean with the morrow light
Will be both blue and calm;

And the billow will embrace thee with a kiss as soft as mine.

No western odors wander

On the black and moaning sea,

And when thou art dead, Leander,
My soul must follow thee!
Oh! go not yet, my love,

Thy voice is sweet and low;

The deep salt wave breaks in above
Those marble steps below.
The turret stairs are wet
That lead into the sea.
The pleasant stars have set:
Oh! go not, go not yet,
Or I will follow thee.

TENNYSON.

BRIGNALL BANKS.

O, BRIGNALL banks are wild and fair,

And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there,
Would grace a summer queen.
And as I rode by Dalton Hall,
Beneath the turrets high,

A maiden on the castle wall
Was singing merrily,

"O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair,

And Greta woods are green; I'd rather rove with Edmund there, Than reign our English queen."

"If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me,

To leave both tower and town, Thou first must guess what life lead

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