I seldom have met with a loss,

Such health do my fountains bestow;
My fountains all bordered with moss,

There the harebells and violets blow.

Not a pine in the grove is there seen,
But with tendrils of woodbine is bound;
Not a beech's more beautiful green,

But a sweet-briar entwines it around.
Not my fields in the prime of the year,
More charms than my cattle unfold;
Not a brook that is limpid and clear,
But it glitters with fishes of gold.

I have found out a gift for my fair,

I have found where the wood-pigeons breed;
But let me such plunder forbear,

She will say 'twas a barbarous deed;
For he ne'er could be true, she averred,
Who would rob a poor bird of its young;
And I loved her the more when I heard
Such tenderness fall from her tongue.

William Shenston

.163.

JAFFAR.

Jaffar the Barmecide, the good Vizier,
The poor man's hope, the friend without a peer.
Jaffar was dead, slain by a doom unjust;
And guilty Haroun, sullen with mistrust
Of what the good, and e'en the bad might say,
Ordained that no man living from that day
Should dare to speak his name on pain of death.
All Araby and Persia held their breath.

All but the brave Moudeer.-He, proud to show
How far for love a grateful soul could go,
And facing death for very scorn and grief,
For his great heart wanted a great relief,
Stood forth in Bagdad, daily in the square
Where once had stood a happy home, and there
Harangued the tremblers at the scymitar
On all they owed to the divine Jaffar.

"Bring me this man," the caliph cried: the man Was brought, was gazed upon. The mutes began To bind his arms. "Welcome, brave cords," cried he; "From bonds far worse Jaffar delivered me;

From wants, from shames, from loveless household fears;
Made a man's eyes friends with delicious tears;

Restored me, loved me, put me on a par
With his great self. How can I pay Jaffar?"

Haroun, who felt that on a soul like this
The mightiest vengeance could but fall amiss,
Now deigned to smile, as one great lord of fate
Might smile upon another half as great.
He said, "Let worth grow frenzied if it will ;
The caliph's judgment shall be master still.

Go, and since gifts so move thee, take this gem,
The richest in the Tartar's diadem,

And hold the giver as thou deemest fit,"
"Gifts!" cried the friend. He took; and holding it
High toward the heavens, as though to meet his star,
Exclaimed, "This too, I owe to thee, Jaffar."

Leigh Hunt.

.164.

THE MAY QUEEN.

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; To-morrow'll be the happiest time of all the glad New-Year; Of all the glad New-Year, mother, the maddest merriest day;

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

There's many a bright, black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine;

There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Caroline;
But none so fair as little Alice in all the land they say:
So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o'
the May.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake, If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break; But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands

gay;

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

As I came up the valley, whom think ye I should see,
But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree?
He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yester-
day,-

But I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white, And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of light. They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

They say he's dying all for love, but that can never be :
They say his heart is breaking, mother-what is that to me?
There's many a bolder lad 'll woo me any summer day,
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen
o' the May.

Little Effie shall go with me, mother, to-morrow to the green, And you'll be there, too, mother, to see me made the Queen: For the shepherd lads on every side 'll come from far away, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

The honeysuckle round the porch has woven its wavy bowers, And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckooflowers;

And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray,

And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow grass, And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they

pass;

There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the livelong day, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

All the valley, mother, 'll be fresh and green and still,
And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill,
And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'll merrily glance and play,
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o'
the May.

So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear,

To-morrow 'll be the happiest time of all the glad New-Year; To-morrow 'll be of all the year the maddest, merriest day, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother I'm to be Queen o'

the May.

Tennyson.

• 165 *

MY LOST YOUTH.

Often I think of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down

The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
And a verse of a Lapland song

Is haunting my memory still :
“A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,
And catch, in sudden gleams,
The sheen of the far surrounding seas,
And islands that were the Hesperides
Of all my boyish dreams.

And the burden of that old song

It murmurs and whispers still :
“A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the black wharves and the slips
And the sea-tides tossing free ;

And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.

And the voice of that wayward song

Is singing and saying still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."