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And when the sky is silver-pale at even,
And the wind grieveth in the lonely tree,
Go out beneath the solitary heaven,
And think of me!

And when the moon riseth, as she were dreaming,
And treadeth with white feet the lulled sea,
Go, silent as a star, beneath her beaming,
And think of me!

FLORAL FANCIES.

Cut from an old newspaper.

WELCOME! gleams of green-of amber!
Children! playmates! out and see,
Floating from her ice-bound chamber,
Spring, the flower-crown'd spring, set free!
See her blue eyes, glad to weeping.
O'er the wan world oped anew;
O'er the meads fresh waters leaping,
Silvery-stepp'd, and tuneful too!
Singing, ringing, wildest measure.
Wild as if gone mad with pleasure!

Now the warm rays' noonday brightness
Wakes the sleepy flowers below-
Some like gentle ghosts, all whiteness-
Some like maiden cheeks that glow-
Jonquils pale-how pale! but sweeter,
Richer than the rose of June;
Daffodils whose day is fleeter,

Born like smiles and lost as soon.
Pansies clad in wondrous glory,
Rare as kings in eastern story.

Yonder, where the sparkling showers
Fall like music heard in sleep,
There have burst the crocus flowers,
Laughing out while cloudlets weep.
Time of beauty-time of blessing--
Sunny childhood of the year!
Earth, so lorn ere thy caressing,
Blooms like one whom angels cheer:

Kiss her, clasp her, tend her kindly,
She has sorrow'd long and blindly.

Sorrow'd childless, bloomless, blighted,
Like a mother gone distraught-
Ah! that young smile rapture-lighted,
Nestling there new life hath wrought;
Lilies weave her brow's soft splendour,
Crown'd with gems-the jewel-dews.
Violets dark her mild eyes render,
Almond-pink her cheeks suffuse!

Kiss her, clasp her-soundest slumbers
Soon must melt at such warm numbers.

O'er her shoulders thickly streaming
May's laburnum knots of gold;
Ringlets rich in radiance gleaming,
As were Absalom's of old!

Now she wakes-she pants--she rises-
Standing midst the milk-white boughs,
Bride-like! full of sweet surprises,
Bride-like! blushing while she vows.
Now she walks the world in beauty-
Now sweet Love becomes a duty.

SONG.

This celebrated song is printed in several collections of poems published in the sixteenth century. There are many variations in each of the copies. The following version is that given by RITSON in his English Songs, with the exception of the last stanza, which is from a manuscript in the Bodleian Library at Oxford. In that manuscript the poem is ascribed to SIR EDWARD DYER, a friend of Sir Philip Sydney. My mind to me a kingdom is;

Such perfect joy therein I find,
As far exceeds all earthly bliss

That God or nature hath assign'd.

Though much I want that most would have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

Content I live-this is my stay;

I seek no more than may suffice:
I press to bear no haughty sway;
Look what I lack my mind supplies.

Lo! thus I triumph like a king,
Content with that my mind doth bring.

I see how plenty surfeits oft,

And hasty climbers soonest fall ; I see that such as sit aloft

Mishap doth threaten most of all: These get with toil, and keep with fear; Such cares my mind could never bear.

No princely pomp, nor wealthy store,
No force to win a victory;
No wily wit to salve a sore,

No shape to win a lover's eye;
To none of these I yield as thrall;
For why? My mind despiseth all.

Some have too much, yet still they crave;
I little have, yet seek no more;
They are but poor, though much they have,
And I am rich with little store.

They poor, I rich; they beg, I give ;
They lack, I lend: they pine, I live.

I laugh not at another's loss,

I grudge not at another's gain;
No worldly wave my mind can toss,
I brook that is another's bane:
I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend;
I loath not life, nor dread mine end.

My wealth is health and perfect ease,
My conscience clear, my chief defence;
I never seek by bribes to please,
Nor by desert to give offence.
Thus do I live, thus will I die-
Would all did so as well as I.

I joy not in no earthly bliss,

I weigh not Croesus' wealth a straw; For care, I care not what it is

I fear not fortune's fatal law : My mind is such as may not move For beauty bright, or force of love.

I wish but what I have at will,

I wander not to seek for more; I like the plain, I climb no hill;

In greatest storms I sit on shore, And laugh at them that toil in vain To get what must be lost again.

I kiss not where I wish to kill,

I feign not love where most I hate ;
I break no sleep to win my will,
I wait not at the mighty's gate;
I scorn no poor, I fear no rich-
I feel no want, nor have too much.

Some weigh their pleasures by their lust,
Their wisdom by their rage of will ;
Their treasure is their only trust,
A cloaked craft their store of skill;
But all the pleasure that I find,
Is to maintain a quiet mi d.

THE SQUIRE'S FEW.
By JANE TAYLOR.

A SLANTING ray of evening light
Shoots through the yellow frame,
It makes the faded crimson bright,
And yields the fringe a gem.
The window's gothic framework falls,
In oblique shadow on the walls.

And since those trappings first were new,
How many a cloudless day

To rob the velvet of its hue,

Has come, and pass'd away;
How many a setting sun hath made
That curious lattice-work of shade.

Crumbled beneath the hillock green
That cunning hand must be
That carved this fretted door, I ween,
Acorn and fleur-de-lis;

And now the worm hath done her part
In mimicking the chisel's art.

In days of yore (as now we call),
When the first James was king,
The courtly knight from yonder hall,
Hither his train did bring,
All seated round in order due,
With broider'd suit and buckled shoe.

On damask cushions, set in fringe,
All rev'rently they knelt,
Prayer-book, with brazen hasp and hinge,
In ancient English spelt,
Each holding in a lily hand,
Responsive at the priest's command.

Then streaming down the vaulted aisle,
The sunbeam long and lone
Illumes the characters awhile
Of their inscription-stone;

And there in marble hard and cold,
The knight and all his train behold.

Outstretch'd together are express'd
He and his lady fair,

With hands uplifted on the breast
In attitude of prayer;

Long-visaged, clad in armour, he,
With ruffled arm and boddice, she.

Set forth, in order as they died,
The numerous offspring bend,
Devoutly kneeling side by side,
As though they did intend
For past offences to atone,
By saying endless prayers in stone.
Those mellow days are past and dim,
And generations new,

In regular descent from him

Have fill'd the stately pew,

And in the same succession go
To occupy the vault below.

And now the modern-polish'd squire
With his gay train appear,

Who duly to the hall retire

A season every year,

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