LOVE FROM THE NORTH.

I HAD a love in soft south land,

Beloved through April far in May; He waited on my lightest breath, And never dared to say me nay. He saddened if my cheer was sad, But gay he grew if I was gay; We never differed on a hair,

My yes his yes, my nay his nay. The wedding hour was come, the aisles Were flushed with sun and flowers that day; I pacing balanced in my thoughts:

"It's quite too late to think of nay."-My bridegroom answered in his turn,

Myself had almost answered "Yea:" When through the flashing nave I heard A struggle and resounding “ Nay.” Bridemaids and bridegroom shrank in fear, But I stood high who stood at bay: "And if I answer yea, fair Sir,

What man art thou to bar with nay?
He was a strong man from the north,
Light-locked, with eyes of dangerous gray;
"Put yea by for another time

In which I will not say thee nay."
He took me in his strong white arms,
He bore me on his horse away,
O'er crag, morass, and hairbreadth pass,
But never asked me yea or nay.

He made made me fast with book and bell,
With links of love he makes me stay;
Till now I've neither heart nor power
Nor will nor wish to say him nay.
AT HOME.

WHEN I was dead, my spirit turned

To seek the much frequented house: I passed the door, and saw my friends

Feasting beneath green orange boughs; From hand to hand they pushed the wine, They sucked the pulp of plum and peach; They sang, they jested, and they laughed, For each was loved of each.

I listened to their honest chat:

Said one: "To-morrow we shall be
Plod plod along the featureless sands

And coasting miles and miles of sea."
Said one: "Before the turn of tide
We will achieve the eyrie-seat."
Said one: "To-morrow shall be like
To-day, but much more sweet."

MAUDE CLARE.

OUT of the church she followed them
With a lofty step and mien :
His bride was like a village maid,
Maude Clare was like a queen.
"Son Thomas," his lady mother said,
With smiles, almost with tears:
May Nell and you but live as true
As we have done for years:

"Your father thirty years ago
Had just your tale to tell;
But he was not so pale as you,
Nor I so pale as Nell."

My lord was pale with inward strife,
And Nell was pale with pride;
My lord gazed long on pale Maude Clare
Or ever he kissed the bride.

"Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord,

Have brought my gift," she said:
"To bless the hearth, to bless the board,
To bless the marriage-bed.

"Here's my half of the golden chain
You wore about your neck,
That day we waded ankle-deep
For lilies in the beck:

"Here's my half of the faded leaves

We plucked from budding bough,
With feet amongst the lily leaves,-
The lilies are budding now."

He strove to match her scorn with scorn,
He faltered in his place:

"Lady," he said,-" Mande Clare," he said,Maude Clare : "—and hid his face.

She turned to Nell: "My Lady Nell,

I have a gift for you;

Though, were it fruit, the bloom were gone,

Or, were it flowers, the dew.

"Take my share of a fickle heart,

Mine of a paltry love:

Take it or leave it as you will,

I wash my hands thereof."

"And what you leave," said Nell, "I'll take, And what you spurn, I'll wear ; For he's my lord for better and worse,

And him I love, Maude Clare.

"Yea, though you're taller by the head,

More wise, and much more fair;

I'll love him till he loves me best,
Me best of all, Maude Clare."

A PEAL OF BELLS.

STRIKE the bells wantonly,

Tinkle tinkle well;

Bring me wine, bring me flowers,

Ring the silver bell.

All my lamps burn scented oil,

Hung on laden orange-trees, Whose shadowed foliage is the foil To golden lamps and oranges. Heap my golden plates with fruit,

Golden fruit, fresh-plucked and ripe, Strike the bells and breathe the pipe; Shut out showers from summer hoursSilence that complaining lute

Shut out thinking, shut out pain,
From hours that cannot come again.

Strike the bells solemnly,

Ding dong deep:

My friend is passing to his bed,
Fast asleep;

There's plaited linen round his head,

While foremost go his feetHis feet that cannot carry him. My feast's a show, my lights are dim; Be still, your music is not sweet,— There is no music more for him:

His lights are out, his feast is done; His bowl that sparkled to the brim Is drained, is broken, cannot hold; My blood is chill, his blood is cold; His death is full, and mine begun. UP-HILL.

WHILE roses are so red,

While lilies are so white, Shall a woman exalt her face Because it gives delight? She's not sq sweet as a rose,

A lily's straighter than she,
And if she were as red or white,
She'd be but one of three.

Whether she flush in love's summer,
Or in its winter grow pale,
Whether she flaunt her beauty,
Or hide it away in a veil ;
Be she red or white,

And stand she erect or bowed,
Time will win the race he runs,

And hide her away in a shroud.

SONG.

WHEN I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,

Nor shady cypress tree.
Be green the grass above me,

With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember,

And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadow,
I shall not see the rain;

I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on as if in pain;
'Mid dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.

MAY.

I CANNOT tell you how it was:
But this I know it came to pass
Upon a bright and breezy day,

When May was young; ah, pleasant May!
As yet the poppies were not born
Between the blades of tender cor:
The laid eggs had not hatched as yet,
Nor any bird foregone its mate.

I cannot tell you what it was;
But this I know it did but pass,
It passed away with sunny May,
With all sweet things it passed away,
And left me cold, and old and gray.

THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST LINCOLNSHIRE.

(1571.)

THE old mayor climbed the belfry tower, The ringers ran by two, by three; "Pull, if ye never pulled before;

Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he. Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells! Ply all your changes, all your swells,

Play uppe The Brides of End rby.'"

Men say it was a stolen tyde

The Lord that sent it, He knows all; But in myne ears doth still abide

The message that the bells let fall: And there was naught of strange, beside The flights of mews and peewits pied

By millions crouched on the old sea wall.

I sat and spun within the doore,

My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes; The level sun, like ruddy ore,

Lay sinking in the barren skies;
And dark against day's golden death
She moved where Lindis wandereth,*
My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth.

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling,
Ere the early dews were falling,
Farre away I heard her song.
"Cusha! Cusha!" all along;
Where the reedy Lindis floweth,

Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, Quit the stalks of parsley hollow,

Hollow, hollow;

Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow,
From the clovers lift your head;

Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot,
Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow,
Jetty, to the milking shed."

If it be long, aye, long ago,

When I beginne to think howe long, Againe I hear the Lindis flow,

Swift as an arrowe, sharp and strong;

Alle fresh the level pasture lay,

And not a shadowe mote be seene, Save where full fyve good miles away

The steeple towered from out the gree And lo! the great bell farre and wide Was heard in all the country side That Saturday at eventide.

The swannerds where their sedges are Moved on in sunset's golden breath, The shepherde lads I heard afarre,

And my sonne's wife, Elizabeth; Till floating o'er the grassy sea Came downe that kyndly message free, The "Brides of Mavis Enderby."

Then some looked uppe into the sky,

And all along where Lindis flows

To where the goodly vessels lie,

And where the lordly steeple showsThey sayde, " And why should this thing be, What danger lowers by land or sea?

They ring the tune of Enderby!

"For evil news from Mablethorpe,

Of pyrate galleys warping down ; For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe,

They have not spared to wake the townej But while the west bin red to see,

And storms be none, and pyrates flee,

Why ring The Brides of Enderby?"

I looked without, and lo! my sonne

Came riding downe with might and mai1

He raised a shout as he drew on,

Till all the welkin rang again, "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"

(A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath
Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.)

"The olde sea wall (he cried) is downe,
The rising tide comes on apace,
And boats adrift in yonder towne

Go sailing uppe the market place."
He shook as one that looks on death =

"God save you, mother!" straight le saith;

"Where is my wife, Elizabeth?”

"Good sonne, where Lindis winds aw

With her two bairns I marked her 1ongi And ere yon bells beganne to play

Afar I heard her milking song."

He looked across the grassy sea,
To right, to left, Ho Enderby!
They rang"The Brides of Enderby!"

With that he cried and beat his breast;
For lo! along the river's bed
A mighty eygre reared his crest,

And uppe the Lindis raging sped.
It swept with thunderous noise, loud;
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud,
Or like a demon in a shroud.

And rearing Lindis backward pressed,

Shook all her trembling bankes amaine; Then madly at the eygre's breast

Flung uppe her weltering walls again.

Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout

Then beaten foam flew round about-
Then all the mighty floods were out.

So farre, so fast the eygre drave,

The heart had hardly,time to beat, Before a shallow seething wave

Sobbed in the grasses at our feet: The feet had hardly time to flee Before it brake against the knee, And all the world was in the sea.

Upon the roofe we sate that night,

The noise of bells went sweeping by:

I marked the lofty beacon-light

Stream from the church-tower, red and high

A lurid mark and dread to see;
And awsome bells they were to mee,
That in the dark rang "Enderby."

They rang the sailor lads to guide

From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed;
And I-my sonne was at my side,

And yet the ruddy beacon glowed:
And yet he moaned beneath his breath,
"O come in life, or come in death!
O lost! my love, Elizabeth."

And didst thou visit him no more?

Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare; The waters laid thee at his doore,

Ere yet the early da vn was clear. The pretty bairns in fast embrace,

The lifted sun shone on thy face,

Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place.

That flow strewed wrecks about the grass,
That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea ;

A fatal ebbe and flow, alas!

To manye more than myne and me:
But each will mourn his own (she saith).
And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath
Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.

I shall never hear her more
By the reedy Lindis shore,
"Cusha, Cusha, Cusha!" calling,
Ere the early dews be falling;
I shall never hear her song,
"Cusha, Cusha!" all along,

Where the sunny Lindis floweth,

Goeth, floweth ;

From the meads where melick groweth,
When the water winding down
Onward floweth to the town.

I shall never see her more

Where the reeds and rushes quiver,
Shiver, quiver:

Stand beside the sobbing river,
Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling,
To the sandy lonesome shore;
I shall never hear her calling,
"Leave your meadow grasses mellow,
Mellow, mellow;

Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow;

Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot; Quit your pipes of parsley hollow,

Hollow, hollow;

Come uppe Lightfoot, rise and follow;

Lightfoot, Whitefoot;

From your clovers lift the head;
Come uppe Jetty, follow, follow,
Jetty, to the milking-shed."

SEA MEWS IN WINTER TIME.

I WALKED beside a dark grey sea,

And said, "O world, how cold thou art! Thou poor white world, I pity thee,

For joy and warmth from thee depart. "Yon rising wave licks off the snow,

Winds on the crag cach other chase, In little powdery whirls they blow

The misty fragments down its face. "The sea is cold, and dark its rim,

Winter sits cowering on the wold, And I beside this watery brim

Am also lonely, also cold,"

I spoke, and drew toward a rock,
Where many mews made twittering sweet;
Their wings upraised, the clustering flock
Did pat the sea-grass with their feet.

A rock but half submerged, the sea
Ran up and washed it while they fed;
Their fond and foolish ecstasy
A wondering in my fancy bred.

Joy companied with every cry,

Joy in their food, in that keen wind, That heaving sea, that shaded sky,

And in themselves, and in their kind.

The phantoms of the deep at play!

What ideless graced the twittering things; Luxurious paddlings in the spray, And delicate lifting up of wings.

Then all at once a flight, and fast

The lovely crowd flew out to sea;

If mine own life had been recast,

Earth had not looked more changed to me.

"Where is the cold? Yon clouded skies
Have only dropped their curtains low
To shade the old mother where she lies
Sleeping a little, 'neath the snow.

"The cold is not in crag, nor scar,
Not in the snows that lap the lea,
Not in yon wings that beat afar,
Delighting, on the crested sea;

"No, nor in yon exultant wind

That shakes the oak and bends the pine. Look near, look in, and thou shalt find No sense of cold, fond fool, but thine!"

With that I felt the gloom depart,

And thoughts within me did unfold, Whose sunshine warmed me to the heartI walked in joy, and was not cold.

REMONSTRANCE.

DAUGHTERS of Eve! your mother did not well :
She laid the apple in your father's hand,
And we have read, O wonder! what befel-

The man was not deceived, nor yet could stand; He chose to lose, for love of her, his throneWith her could die, but could not live alone.

Daughters of Eve! he did not fall so low,
Nor fall so far, as that sweet woman fell;
For something better, than as gods to know,
That husband in that home left off to dwell:
For this, till love be reckoned less than lore,
Shall man be first and best for evermore.

Daughters of Eve! it was for your dear sake
The world's first hero died an uncrown'd king;
But God's great pity touched the grand mistake,
And made his married life a sacred thing:
For yet his nobler sons, if aught be true,
Find the lost Eden in their love to you.

SONG OF THE GOING AWAY.

"OLD man, upon the green hill-side,

With yellow flowers besprinkled o'er, How long in silence wilt thou bide At this low stone door?

"I stoop: within 'tis dark and still; But shadowy paths methinks there be, And lead they far into the hill?" "Traveler, come and see."

""Tis dark, 'tis cold, and hung with gloom; I care not now within to stay;

For thee and me is scarcely room,
I will hence away."

SAILING BEYOND SEAS.
(Old Style.)

METHOUGHT the stars were blinking bright,
And the old brig's sails unfurled;

I said, "I will sail to my love this night
At the other side of the world."

I stepped aboard--we sailed so fast-
The sun shot up from the bourne;
But a dove that perched upon the mast
Did mourn, and mourn, and mourn.
O fair dove! O fond dove!
And dove with the white breast,
Let me alone, the dream is my
And my heart is full of rest.

My true love fares on this great hill,

Feeding his sheep for aye;

I looked in his hut, but all was still,
My love was gone away.

I went to gaze in the forest creek,
And the dove mourned on apace;
No flame did flash, nor fair blue reek
Rose up to show me his place.

O last love! O first love!

My love with the true heart,

OWŊ,

To think I have come to this your home,
And yet we are apart!

My love! He stood at my right hand,
His eyes were grave and sweet,
Methought he said, "In this far land
O, is it thus we meet !

Ah, maid most dear, I am not here;
I have no place—no part—
No dwelling more by sea or shore,
But only in thy heart."

O fair dove! O fond dove!

Till night rose over the bourne,
The dove on the mast, as we sailed fast,
Did mourn, and mourn, and mourn.