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The sight leaves his eye as he cries, with a sigh, "Dance light, for my heart it lies under your feet, love!"

JOHN FRANCIS WALLER.

EDWARD GRAY.

Sweet Emma Moreland, of yonder town,
Met me walking on yonder way,

"And have you lost your heart?" she said;
“And are you married yet, Edward Gray?”

Sweet Emma Moreland spoke to me:

Bitterly weeping I turned away; "Sweet Emma Moreland, love no more Can touch the heart of Edward Gray. "Ellen Adair she loved me well,

Against her father's and mother's will; To-day I sat for an hour and wept

By Ellen's grave, on the windy hill.

"Shy she was, and I thought her cold; Thought her proud, and fled over the sea; Filled I was with folly and spite,

When Ellen Adair was dying for me.

"Cruel, cruel the words I said!

Cruelly came they back to-day: 'You're too slight and fickle,' I said, 'To trouble the heart of Edward Gray!'

SIE HABEN MICH GEQUÄLET. 105

"There I put my face in the grass

Whispered, 'Listen to my despair: I repent me of all I did:

Speak a little, Ellen Adair!"

"Then I took a pencil, and wrote
On the mossy stone, as I lay,
'Here lies the body of Ellen Adair;
And here the heart of Edward Gray!'

"Love may come, and love may go, And fly like a bird, from tree to tree: But I will love no more, no more,

Till Ellen Adair come back to me.

"Bitterly wept I over the stone:

Bitterly weeping I turned away: There lies the body of Ellen Adair! And there the heart of Edward Gray!" ALFRED TENNYSON.

SIE HABEN MICH GEQUÄLET.

People have teased and vexed me,
Worried me early and late:
Some with the love they bore me,
Other some with their hate.

They drugged my glass with poison,
They poisoned the bread I ate:

Some with the love they bore me,
Other some with their hate.

But she who has teased and vexed me,
And worried me far the most-

She never hated me, never,

And her love I could never boast.
From HEINE.

TOO LATE.

Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, In the old likeness that I knew,

I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

Never a scornful word should grieve ye,

I'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do: Sweet as your smile on me shone ever,

Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

Oh! to call back the days that are not!
My eyes were blinded, your words were few;
Do you know the truth now up in heaven,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true?

I never was worthy of you, Douglas;
Not half worthy the like of you;

Now all men beside seem to me like shadows

I love you, Douglas, tender and true.

JANETTE'S HAIR.

Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas,
Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew,
As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

MRS. CRAIK.

107

JANETTE'S HAIR.

"Oh, loosen the snood that you wear, Janette, Let me tangle a hand in your hair—my pet;” For the world to me had no daintier sight Than your brown hair veiling your shoulder white.

It was brown with a golden gloss, Janette, It was finer than silk of the floss-my pet; "Twas a beautiful mist falling down to your wrist, 'Twas a thing to be braided, and jeweled, and kissed

"Twas the loveliest hair in the world-my pet.

My arm was the arm of a clown, Janette,
It was sinewy, bristled, and brown-my pet;
But warmly and softly it loved to caress
Your round white neck and your wealth of tress,
Your beautiful plenty of hair-my pet.

Your eyes had a swimming glory, Janette,
Revealing the old, dear story-my pet;

They were gray with that chastened tinge of the sky

When the trout leaps quickest to snap the fly, And they matched with your golden hair-my pet.

Your lips-but I have no words, Janette-
They were fresh as the twitter of birds-my pet,
When the spring is young, and roses are wet,
With the dew-drops in each red bosom set,
And they suited your gold-brown hair-my pet.

Oh, you tangled my life in your hair, Janette,
"Twas a silken and golden snare-my pet;
But, so gentle the bondage, my soul did implore
The right to continue your slave evermore,
With my fingers enmeshed in your hair-my pet.

Thus ever I dream what you were, Janette, With your lips and your eyes and your hair-my

pet.

In the darkness of desolate years I moan,
And my tears fall bitterly over the stone
That covers your golden hair-my pet.

CHARLES GRAHAM HALPINE.

A MATCH.

If love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf,

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